This Maddening Endrþaga
by E.Wills
Summary: Hiccup and his friends are recruited for a diplomatic mission of sorts, but things never seem to go as planned. Predominantly Hiccstrid, but other relationships are explored as well—not necessarily in a romantic sense, either. Rated M for violence, language, and sexual content in later chapters. Because, hey...grown up Vikings.
1. The More Things Change

**Author's Note:** This fic started off as a chapter in _One Year And A Dozen Words_ titled "Jealous", but after I ran some of the concepts therein by my editor, he was like, "No. You need to make that its own story. There is so much content there you need to explore further." So, if you are a fan of my writing, you owe him a big thank you for making this happen. He convinced me to do this. I really wasn't planning on writing another full length fic before HTTYD2 came out, because I'm scared of drifting too far from canon, but here I go again, y'all.

Moving right along, this story will contain a bunch Hiccstrid—shocking, I know…but a great deal of it will also focus on the other teens, their relationships to one another, and the awkward dynamics of growing up with the same group of people. In that respect, I don't know if I can call this a 100% Hiccstrid fic. It's more a 60-40% split in favor of Hiccstrid, with the rest of the story dedicated to rounding out the other characters. I'm happy to say I've just about squeezed all the angst I can out of Hiccup and Astrid's relationship at this point. It's pretty smooth sailing for them here on out (like in my one-shots), with maybe the occasional choppy waters if the occasion calls for it. The group is all 19, going on 20 now, and so this would happen before HTTYD2, naturally. Following my continuity, this takes place nearly a year after the conclusion of my one-shots. Hiccup and Astrid have been dating seriously for two years and are not engaged, nor do I plan for them to be at this time. The movies (HTTYD 2 or 3) will likely take care of that issue for me.

This is rated M because there will be sexual content, swearing, and drinking, because they are young adults and I don't think it should be shocking that unsupervised Vikings their age would do such things. **Warning!** Smut, fluff, and smluff ahead!

Lastly, _Endrþaga_ is Old Norse for "silence in return/reciprocated silence".

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the HTTYD franchise. I just borrow its characters from time to time because it amuses me.

00000000

A lot could change in just two years. Astrid knew that firsthand. She had seen Berk transform, incorporating more structures to better accommodate the dragons that were now an integral part of their culture and identity. Several strong, Viking hands had collaborated on the massive dragon stables and perches, while construction of a more unique design could be attributed to Hiccup's genius, including the automatic feeding troughs and the village-wide, fireproofing initiative. Not that buildings made of wood could be completely impervious to flames, but Hiccup certainly had tried. The dragon races that had also been a fun and somewhat reckless pastime for the dragon academy had morphed into a spectator sport—drawing large crowds and a new level of dragon-related fanaticism. While dragon racing was not originally intended to be a contact sport, there was no way Snotlout, Astrid, and the Twins were not going to use it as an outlet for their extreme competitiveness—even if it called for excessive physicality at times. Hiccup had protested at first, but Astrid had explained to him that all was fair in love, war, and dragon-racing, which only seemed to make him more exasperated. But eventually, even he and Fishlegs warmed up to the spirit of competition, and were less polite than they formerly had been, swept up in the passion of Berk's newest form of entertainment.

In the spirit of ingenuity, the group of dragon riders found themselves sprawled out on a grassy cliff side overlooking the sea, enjoying the sun and cool breeze, working on the latest ideas to improve upon their beloved sport.

"I like your Gronckle, babe," Snotlout said, flashing Ruffnut his most charming smile—or rather, his best attempt at one.

"It's not a Gronckle! It's a Deadly Nadder, dumbass," Ruffnut retorted, looking up from her painting with a scowl. "And I'm not your 'babe'."

In attempt to make dragon races more organized and purposeful, Hiccup had suggested they each should have a personal goal in which to drop their sheep. Each goal would be complete with nets to hold the animals, and sign above each drop point with a depiction of the dragon to which that goal belonged. Astrid had volunteered to construct the nets, along with Fishlegs, who was surprisingly adept at tying knots. This left Snotlout and the Twins to paint the dragon markers, which was not exactly going as smoothly as hoped. Astrid laughed at Ruffnut's poor interpretation of a Nadder's head, sloppily painted, with its only saving grace being that it was blue in color—at least that part was accurate.

"To be fair, Snotlout has a point, Ruff. It _does_ kind of look like a Gronckle. I hate to tell you, but Stormfly's head is not that…fat," Astrid told her with a sympathetic expression.

"Well, then you come over here and do it! Stormfly's _your_ dragon!" Ruffnut snapped, dripping paint all over her masterpiece as she brandished her brush at Astrid irritably.

"Can't. Too busy," she replied, holding up her half-completed net; she was quite proud of her handiwork.

"Then where is Hiccup? Shouldn't he contribute? He's the crafty one—and this was his stupid idea, anyway," Ruffnut grumbled, returning back to her chubby Nadder painting.

"He's got more important things to do," Astrid said with a heavy sigh.

"Maybe if the academy was still a thing, he'd be around more. That always seemed to motivate him," Fishlegs mused, absentmindedly tying knots as though it was second nature—then again, as a fisherman's son, perhaps it was.

Of all the changes that had occurred over the previous two years, it was the slow dissolution of the Berk Dragon Academy that Astrid actually regretted. It had not been intentional, but as they all had aged, there were other responsibilities that required their respective attention. For Hiccup, it was his chiefing duties, interspersed with long flights on Toothless to decompress. It was not that Stoick had suddenly burdened him with a greater workload—Hiccup had simply matured in his priorities. Fishlegs had been learning the fishing trade on the side, and Snotlout was often busy working his family's land while his father played advisor to Stoick. As for the Twins, well, Astrid was still not entirely sure what they got up to, but they insisted they were always too busy to attend regular academy meetings anymore. With their entire founding group being so often unavailable, and Hiccup stepping back from the project completely, things had only gone downhill for the dragon academy. Astrid had tried to keep it going as best she could, with Fishleg's help, but even she was often called away by her mother to learn the domestic skills she would need to make a proper wife to Berk's future chief—whenever Hiccup finally came calling with a marriage contract to negotiate. Astrid resisted the idea at first, but eventually caved in when she realized her combat skills were not nearly as crucial to child-rearing as cooking and laundry.

In hindsight, she supposed the dragon academy had been the ambitious dream of a bunch of naïve, carefree youths. Eventually, they all had to grow up. Dragons still occupied much of their time however, and when the entire village turned up to watch the dragon races, it gave a pretty decent excuse to shirk one's responsibilities for an afternoon—but there was just not much need for dragon training classes anymore. Nearly five years of living with the animals created a whole village of experts in a short while, and the academy had become more of a social club. Once the priorities of its members changed, the death of the dragon academy was inevitable. They all still met up and hung out on occasion—the village of Berk was only so big. They all saw each other in the skies in passing, or for some friendly competition, but overall, things were just _different_ between them. With Astrid and Hiccup being seriously committed, often doing their own thing as a couple separate from the others, the dynamics of their group had simply changed. For better or for worse, Astrid was not completely sure yet.

"Do you miss the dragon academy, Fishlegs?" she asked curiously.

Fishlegs glanced up from his net and answered, "Sometimes. I enjoyed the teaching part of it, but if anyone had questions about dragons now, they usually just come to me or Hiccup directly—usually Hiccup…"

Astrid furrowed her brow at the faint irritation she detected in his tone.

"This is kind of like being in the academy, again. We're all sitting around, talking, instead of fighting over painted sheep for points," Snotlout said with a shrug.

"Yeah, and it's _boring_," Tuffnut complained. "Just like the academy was."

"We don't really miss it," Ruffnut added. "We find our own fun now."

Astrid frowned, feeling a little hurt by their remarks—not that she would admit it, especially to the Twins. They were not known for their sympathy or empathetic hearts. She had thought however, that even the two of them would have enjoyed the time they all had spent together in those earlier years.

"So, remind me again, if there is no dragon academy, why does Hiccup still exercise some measure of control over what we say and do?" Snotlout asked.

"You mean, besides the fact that he's the next chief?" Fishlegs asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Snotlout ignored him and continued with, "I mean, why does _he_ get to dictate how I spend my afternoon, or how we conduct our dragon races?"

"Because he invented dragon racing, and he has great ideas," Astrid replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "And I think deep down, even _you_ know that."

Snotlout scoffed and returned to painting a Monsterous Nightmare for his own goal, but had nothing further to say on the issue. Astrid also busied herself with her own task, quickly knotting ropes together to catch up to Fishlegs, who was just about ready to move on to his second net. They all worked in silence, staring determinedly down at their individual projects, and Astrid was painfully aware of the awkward silence that had settled between them. It was one created by a long history together, punctuated by several recent months of growing rapidly apart. What did one say to friends turned back into casual acquaintances? What small talk could be made when they already knew each other's business but were no longer comfortable enough with each other to comment on it?

Although, when she really thought about it, Astrid was the odd Viking out. Fishlegs and Snotlout had never really been close to one another, so there was no change there, but they both made a concerted effort to remain close to the Twins. She suspected it had more to do with Ruffnut than any kind of desire for male bonding with Tuffnut. At any rate, the four of them seemed to have a much better rapport with each other than any of them did with her. She figured she could walk away from their little group right that second and they would not feel particularly sad about it.

"Hey, Snotlout, have you solved the mystery of your mysteriously fainting yak?" Tuffnut asked, a mischievous grin curling up at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, whatever! I know it's you two. If you don't knock it off, I'm going to tell my dad who's been tipping our yak. He is _so_ pissed!" Snotlout exclaimed. "How old are you? Thirteen?"

Ruffnut and Tuffnut broke out into identical cackles.

"Like you've never gone yak-tipping before," Fishlegs chimed in.

"When we were _thirteen_!" Snotlout retorted.

Astrid sat in silence as the four of them swapped stories and inside jokes she was not familiar with—all of them recent, and all of them only including the other four Vikings sitting in front of her. It was a strange sensation to feel as though she knew a group of people while finding them simultaneously unrecognizable. She was not accustomed to feeling left out of things, but that was her new reality. Getting older certainly did curious things to friendships, she realized.

"…And then I was telling Ludvigsen, if he had _that_ big an issue with chickens we gave him, he could go suck a troll's hairy—AUUUGGH!" Snotlout cried out suddenly.

Astrid gave a startled gasp, and glanced up in alarm to see Tuffnut trying to wrestle a Terrible Terror off of Snotlout. The dragon was not biting or scratching him, which was unusual. It was scrambling around on his back instead, digging its tiny claws into his tunic.

"GET. IT. _OFF!" _Snotlout demanded, frantically waving his arms as the little dragon scurried all over his head and shoulders, knocking his helmet askew.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's not even attacking you," Fishlegs said, setting his net aside to offer his assistance.

Tuffnut stood back and let Fishlegs extract the Terrible Terror from Snotlout, cradling the dragon in his arms as it gazed around excitedly. Snotlout straightened back up, trying to regain his composure.

"Whose little demon is that?" he asked, adjusting his helmet and glaring at the Terror reproachfully.

"No idea. I haven't seen this one before," Fishlegs replied, holding the dragon out in front of him to give it a better glance-over.

In Astrid's opinion, unless the difference in color and markings were obvious, all strange dragons of a particular breed looked the same. She did not understand how both Hiccup and Fishlegs could so easily tell them apart. It was a talent she simply did not possess.

"Wait a minute! It's an air mail!" Fishlegs exclaimed, noticing a folded up piece of parchment fastened to the Terrible Terror's leg.

"For me?" Snotlout asked curiously. "Who would be sending me air mail?"

Ruffnut untied the letter from the tiny dragon, only to discover it was sealed with wax and addressed to—

"Hiccup," she said aloud; they all stared blankly at her.

"Hiccup sent me air mail?" Snoutlout asked, frowning.

She rolled her eyes and clarified, "No, idiot. The note is for Hiccup."

"Who's it from?" Astrid inquired, rising to her feet.

"Dunno," Ruffnut replied, looking the parchment over. Then she stared back at Astrid with a wicked smile and added, "It's awfully girly handwriting—whose ever it is."

Astrid scowled and snatched the letter out of her hand, which only seemed to amuse Ruffnut more.

"I'll take it to him," she declared. "Only because I don't trust any of you not to read it yourselves."

"Uh huh," Tuffnut replied skeptically. "Because you're not in the least bit bothered that another woman is writing to your boyfriend."

"Yeah. You just want to make sure the letter gets to him safely. We're sure that's all it is," Ruffnut teased, folding her arms over her chest.

Astrid did not bother to respond to them. It was often better practice to ignore the Twins than play into their mockery. She turned on her heel and quickly strode away from the others, clutching the mysterious note tightly in her hand.

"Wait! You're not going to help us finish the goals?" Fishlegs called after her.

"At least take the little demon beast with you!" Snotlout shouted.

She ignored them and just kept on walking, staring accusingly down at the parchment in her hand.

* * *

Hiccup stood at the end of the longest dock, overseeing a couple of burlier Viking unload goods from Trader Johann's ship. Toothless sat beside him, watching the scene with mild interest. As the cargo was laid out, Hiccup marked items off a checklist his father had entrusted to him. It was not a particularly challenging task, but Stoick had offered him the job instead of taking part in another meeting of the village elders. Hiccup had practically leapt at the opportunity to escape the stifling heat of Great Hall on such a pleasant, midsummer's day.

"I trust everything is in order?" Johann asked him, clapping his hands together with great enthusiasm.

"It appears to be all here—the different spices, barrels of wine, and all of the glass. I think my dad will be very pleased," he replied, rolling up the checklist and tucking it away.

"Glad to hear it!" Johann replied brightly. "Now, for my compensation?"

Hiccup gestured to several baskets sitting nearby.

"This is everything you requested—furs, wool, leather, and a small amount of iron. Some of the finest goods Berk has to offer," he said.

Johann hurried over to the bounty and studied it all with great scrutiny. He walked around the baskets in a slow circle, stroking his beard, before reaching to down pick up and inspect of a piece of iron ore.

"I hope it meets your expectations," Hiccup told him.

"It's all very nice, indeed—but I don't suppose you have any Gronckle iron just lying about?"

"I've told you before, Johann, we don't make that stuff anymore. It's a cruel process and we don't want to put our dragons through it," he replied.

"That's a shame," Johann said, oblivious to the whole 'cruel process' statement. "I suppose I could always settle for that shield of yours, if you'd be willing to part with it—"

"No."

"Not even for some extra bit of silv—?"

"No."

Hiccup did not really have much use for his Gronckle Iron shield anymore, busying himself with new projects or perfecting his existing designs, instead—like his flame sword. Still, he could not bring himself to barter away his old inventions. It was nostalgia as well as strategy. He did not care for his creations to wind up in the wrong hands, especially since Johann would sell just about anything to anyone for the right price. The Berserkers and Outcasts had all but disbanded, but marauders still posed a slight threat to the archipelago. Knowing that, Hiccup preferred to keep his accomplishments in engineering to himself.

"Ah, well…you are as uncompromising as your father, Master Hiccup," Johann said, holding out his hand, which was a gesture of defeat for the man.

"I've learned from the best. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Johann," Hiccup replied, shaking his hand, sealing their trade agreement.

"Hiccup!" called a familiar voice—one that made his heart skip a beat.

He and Johann turned to see Astrid hurrying down the dock towards them, and Johann chuckled, elbowing him playfully.

"Speaking of pleasure, eh?"

Hiccup narrowed his eyes at him and Johann just winked and went about gathering up his payment, whistling to himself. Toothless gave an excited warble as Astrid approached them, having developed a fondness for her over the past couple years. Hiccup did not know how much the dragon understood about their relationship, but he figured Toothless knew that Astrid made him happy, and that seemed to be enough for the Night Fury.

Astrid smiled at Hiccup and they briefly shared a tight embrace—it was their standard form of greeting one another in public. It conveyed a sense of deep adoration without inviting the catcalls of any onlookers. It was affectionate yet oddly neutral at the same time, which he suspected was how most people would describe their relationship, unaware of their more private affairs.

"I didn't expect to see you down here," he said as she took a step back. "I thought you were busy working on those nets for the dragon racing course."

"I was," Astrid replied, holding out a piece of parchment, "but this came for you."

He glanced down at the letter in her hand quizzically.

"Who sent it?" he asked, taking it from her.

"No idea. The Terrible Terror that brought it was not one Fishlegs recognized—and I'd say he knows just about every dragon on this island," she replied.

Hiccup turned the parchment over in his hands, inspecting the wax seal, which bared a crest he had never seen before.

"That's odd. This doesn't appear to be from Berk at all. I don't know any clan with this insignia," he said.

He reached into his boot to remove his knife—for convenience, it was where he kept it when he was not wearing his riding leathers. He sliced through the wax emblem and unfolded the parchment. It read:

_Hiccup,_

_I know it must come as a bit of surprise to be hearing from me after all of this time, but I confess that I am in dire need of a favor. The marauders around our island have been steadily growing in number over the past month, and while our humble village does not have much to offer them, they raid what they can. I do not know how much more we can stand when they seem determined to take us for all that we have. As the future Chief of Berk and the authority on dragons, I am appealing directly to you. You once told me, if I needed anything, I just had to ask. I am afraid I must put that promise to the test. We need protection. I am asking that you provide us with dragons, and teach us how to train them properly. We need to be able to defend ourselves against the growing threat the marauders pose to our island. I believe this will only help both of our people in the long run. Please, consider my request._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Heather_

He glanced up from the letter and realized Astrid had been trying to read over his shoulder. She grinned sheepishly when he caught her eye and gave him a little space.

"What does it say?" she asked curiously.

"It's from Heather. Apparently her village has run into some trouble with marauders. She thinks, if we give her people dragons, it would fix the problem," he told her, handing the message over to her.

Astrid took it and read it for herself, brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the parchment.

"But you're going to tell her no, right?" she inquired. "I mean, we can't just give dragons away."

As much as he wanted to agree with her, he felt conflicted. He did not think of dragons as some kind of livestock that could be haggled for, or given away so casually. On the other hand, he had indeed made a promise to Heather to help her if ever she needed it, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that the roaming bands of marauders were consolidating their forces and growing their numbers. For what, he could not say, but they were starting to pose a tangible threat, and the smaller villages and tribes scattered around the archipelago were vulnerable. Berk was untouchable as long as they had their dragons. The other villages were not so lucky. He hated to think Heather was in any kind of distress, especially if he had the ability to do something about it.

"Would it be such a bad thing for our allies to be able to defend themselves?" he replied.

Astrid raised her eyebrows at him and said, "You cannot seriously be considering her request."

"If you think about it, we have a vested interest in what happens to these other villages. We trade with them, and—"

"Look me in the eye and tell me this has nothing to do with Heather," she demanded, waving the letter around.

Hiccup was taken aback by her implications.

"I-I…What? Why would it have anything to do with—? I would just be helping her out like I promised!"

She stared back at him skeptically, hands on her hips.

"You know…promises, Astrid. Those things I tend to keep?"

She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"You are at least going to talk it over with your father first, before we agree to do this?"

"Of course. But I don't think I'll have any issues convincing him, though," he answered confidently.

* * *

"Absolutely not," Stoick said firmly as he and Hiccup descended the stone steps in front of the Great Hall.

Hiccup had approached his father after his meeting with the village elders and clan leaders had ended. First, Hiccup had been sure to mention his successful handling of the trade with Johann, before launching into an explanation about Heather's letter and her village's predicament.

"I don't understand. What is so bad about it?" he asked, trying to keep up with his father's brisk pace, taking the steps two at a time.

"Our greatest defense is our dragons. What's even better is that very few people outside of this island know about them. If anyone were te attack Berk, we'd have the element of surprise on our side."

"Who do you think is going to attack Berk? The Outcasts are gone, and the Berserkers have disbanded. The only threat left are the marauders, who don't attack us because the already know about our dragons! I don't see what helping out one of our allies is going to hurt."

"I would think yeh, of all people, would understand there is an entire world outside of the archipelago. We don't need anyone out there knowing our secrets."

Hiccup squeezed past his father and raced down a few steps before stopping abruptly to cut him off. Stoick just sighed heavily in that way he did whenever he was trying to exercise patience.

"We're talking about one village dad. One very small, very vulnerable village. If we give them dragons, we gain an ally who can fight with us. They would be a first line of defense against whatever's out there. At the very least, we'd be protecting our trade interests. We invest in them, they invest in us." Hiccup argued—he was not going to relent.

Stoick stared back at him, considering his son's words carefully. His massive beard had always made reading his more subtle facial expressions difficult, but the pensive look in his eyes led Hiccup to believe he was winning the debate against his father. A lifetime of debating stubborn Vikings had given him an edge when it came to the power of persuasion. It also helped that he had a tendency to be right about most things—particularly if it involved dragons in any way.

"And how many dragons would yeh give them, if I were te agree te this?"

"I, uh…a handful? Mostly very young dragons—the ones we can afford to spare."

"I assume yeh would have te be gone for a few days?"

"More like weeks, actually…"

Stoick just shook his head and brushed past him dismissively. Hiccup rolled his eyes and resumed chasing after his father.

"I'm talking only a month, dad. That's all! Just me and my friends. I think Berk can survive without me for that long. I know it can survive without Snotlout and the Twins for that long," he persisted. "It's not like we're going to be missing the summer's end harvest."

"A month is too—"

"Please, dad. I need to do this to fulfill a promise I made to a friend. See it as a sort of…diplomatic excursion. I'm doing this to protect Berk's interests. While I'm there, I can strengthen the ties we have with Bragaoss—facilitate a stronger trade agreement or negotiate some kind of defensive pact and—"

"Ach! Alright, son! Yeh can go!" Stoick conceded, holding up a hand to silence him. "But I want yeh te treat this seriously. It is not te be some sort of vacations fer yeh and yer friends. Yeh are representing Berk while yeh're there. I expect that yeh will make this a lucrative venture fer our tribe, as well as Bragaoss. Yeh will be acting as chief in my place. Keep yer friends in line!"

"I won't let you down, dad," he replied, fighting to suppress the cheer threatening to escape his throat.

"Good. Now, if yeh'll excuse me, there is a land dispute I have te settle between the Ludvigsens and the Jorgensons," Stoick said wearily. "And apparently, something about a fainting yak."

* * *

Hiccup and Astrid trudged up the hill leading to the cliff side where their friends had spent the majority of the afternoon, working on the projects he had set for them. As they approached the other Vikings, he noticed they had abandoned all productivity in favor of training a Terrible Terror—the one that had brought Heather's letter, or so he assumed.

"He's not that bad when he's not crawling all over your face," Snotlout said, scratching the tiny dragon under the chin.

He glanced up as the two of them approached, and his grin instantly faltered upon seeing Hiccup, but that was not anything new. It was the reaction Hiccup was used to getting from his cousin for nearly fifteen years. He could not recall exactly when the animosity between them had started, but he knew the reason. There were dynamics at play that were bigger than the both of them, and that probably contributed more to any lingering resentment than their conflicting personalities did—but such things were never discussed. It was an unspoken agreement the two of them had reached, and so the wedge between them remained.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence," Snotlout said, folding his arms across his chest.

Hiccup ignored his snide remark and addressed the other dragon riders.

"I know it's been a while since the academy dissolved, but I have a job reminiscent of what we used to do—if you all are interested," he said.

"What kind of job?" Fishlegs asked curiously, cradling the Terrible Terror in his arms.

"It better not involve more paint," Ruffnut said.

"Heather wrote to me and—"

Snotlout and Tuffnut whistled and chuckled, raising their eyebrows at Astrid, who just glowered back at them in annoyance.

"—she would like us to bring dragons to her island, and teach her village how to train them. I already got the idea approved by my dad. We would take maybe a dozen dragons, and we would stay on Bragaoss for a month," Hiccup explained.

"A month? Away from Berk? Sign me up!" Ruffnut exclaimed. "It would be nice to get off this rock for a change."

"I want to clarify that this is not a vacation," he told her firmly. "This is a serious task my dad has been gracious enough to entrust to us."

"Remote island…no parents or nosy neighbors…training dragons," Tuffnut said, counting off with his fingers. "How is that not a vacation?"

"Because I have to spend a month camping out with all of you," Astrid retorted and Hiccup grinned at her remark.

"I'm certainly interested, but I'll have to run it by my parents first," Fishlegs stated, scratching his chin.

"Oh, I'm sorry you need mommy and daddy's permission," Snotlout teased. "And here I thought we were all adults now."

"A month is a long time, Snotlout!" Fishlegs replied defensively. "They would have a lot of anxiety about—"

"More like you would have a lot of anxiety," Tuffnut snickered.

Fishlegs glared at him.

"Okay, okay," Hiccup said, holding up his hands to get their attention. "If you guys are interested, ask whomever you need to ask and let me know so I can write back to Heather. I want to let her know how many of us to expect. I plan to leave in three days, so be ready by then, if you're coming."

"Sure thing, chief," Ruffnut replied.

Hiccup frowned, hating when any of his friends used his title to address him. It made him uncomfortable enough to hear it when used properly around Berk, without the mocking tone to accompany it.

"Oh, and Hiccup?"

"Yes?"

"You can get your skinny ass over here and paint your own damn Night Fury."

000000000000

**Author's Note:** Aaaaaand there's the setup. All pretty lighthearted so far, but don't you worry. For those that know my writing well, y'all know I'll be bringing some angst and feels before too long. In a big way. I don't know how long this story is going to end up being, but I do know that I have a lot of ideas I want to explore with these characters. Hopefully, I have once again piqued y'alls interest! Let's go on another trip together, my friends.

I also tried to go back and edit any typos and things of that nature, because my editor is away for a training course for the next several weeks. He no longer follows behind me to clean up my messes (and hasn't done so for some time), but I can usually count on him to point out any glaring errors. That being said, he's so tied up with course work right now, so I am on my own. So sad, you guys. I make no promises as to the effectiveness of my proofreading at this time. I apologize for typos that may slip through cracks. My editor's so much better at it than I am—mainly because I don't have the patience to proofread. Ain't nobody got time for that!

***Please, please, please review—especially if you like what you've read. It makes me so very happy to know I'm entertaining others. It's why I'm writing, after all.***

Cheers!


	2. Not the Camaraderie of Yesteryear

**Author's Note: **Uh, I got nuthin'. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the HTTYD franchise.

000000000000

Fishlegs stood silently by himself, trying not to eavesdrop as he helped Hiccup and Astrid select the dragons to be gifted to Bragaoss. Hiccup had naturally tasked him with choosing four juvenile Gronckles to take to Heather' village, and Fishlegs would not pass up the opportunity to provide his expertise. With the dissolution of the academy, it was harder for his extensive dragon knowledge to be relevant anymore. He appreciated that Hiccup still recognized its value, but being around his future chief was not as pleasant as it once had been. He used to be able to talk so freely to Hiccup, and the other Viking would listen. Hiccup had been his closest friend, and the only person who showed him enough respect—but that was before his priorities had changed. Before he had fallen victim to love. Whenever Astrid was around, things got uncomfortable. Not because the two lovers were inappropriate in front of others, but there was a crevasse that separated them from Fishlegs. It was a deep divide that was impossible to cross, and he felt like, to reach his friends, he had to shout across that invisible gap with the hope they could still hear him. Fishlegs wanted desperately to talk to Hiccup like he used to, but the other man's affections for Astrid made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else.

"Of course you can sleep in my tent. I had honestly already assumed as much," Fishlegs overheard Hiccup tell Astrid.

"You don't care about what the others will say?" Astrid asked.

"What jokes can they make that they haven't already?" Hiccup replied. "I stopped caring about their opinions on our relationship a long time ago."

Fishlegs felt that statement was definitely accurate. The two of them kept up the appearance of propriety around Berk, mainly to avoid the wrath of Astrid's parents and the judgment of more traditional Vikings. When it came to their little group of friends however, there had been a particularly informative instance when too much wine had been consumed, tempers had flared, and damning confessions had been made. Snotlout had been the instigator, as usual, and though everyone had had their suspicions and rumors about Hiccup and Astrid's level of intimacy, there was never any proof to substantiate the claims. After about six or seven drinks between them, and an hour of Snotlout's incessant insinuations about his cousin's virginity, or lack thereof, Hiccup had been just inebriated and irritated enough.

"Alright! _Yes!" _he had snapped, slurring his speech a little. "I've been having sex with Astrid! Okay? _A lot_ of sex!"

Snotlout looked taken aback while Tuffnut had choked and sputtered on his mead. Fishlegs vaguely remembered feeling his face burn uncomfortably, glad that neither of the girls had been there to make the situation more awkward than it already was.

"And you know _what_, Snotlout?" Hiccup had added, leaning in closer. "It's _fantastic_."

That had pretty much been the end of Hiccup's bashfulness on the subject—at least around their gang. Whatever criticism or jests the others threw at him just rolled of his back. He had nothing to hide or be ashamed of anymore, and Fishlegs suspected a great deal of the teasing Snotlout and Tuffnut threw at him was a manifestation of their own raging jealousy.

"How are things going with the Gronckles, Fishlegs?" Hiccup asked him suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Fishlegs glanced up to see his future chief walking towards him, and he immediately felt uneasy. It was not that Hiccup was a threatening presence, unless he was on a dragon. He figured it had more to do with the typical anxiety that accompanied any tense relationship, which was the most appropriate description of what their friendship was becoming. The more they invested into their own individual pursuits, the further apart they grew. Fishlegs knew Hiccup less as his friend and more as his chief. It was hard not to view him in that manner, whether Hiccup actually wanted the distinction or not. When Fishleg's own perceptions of who Hiccup was were dwindling, it was inevitable to compensate with the perception the rest of Berk had of him.

"It's going well, I think," Fishlegs told him, gesturing to a couple of young Gronckles, playfully wrestling one another. "These two, for sure."

"Great!" Hiccup exclaimed, placing a hand on Fishlegs' massive shoulder. "I want to thank you for helping me out with this."

"No problem. Always happy to help!" Fishlegs said brightly, trying to force the same feelings of camaraderie that had once been there—but it was not as easy as it used to be. "How many dragons are we taking?"

"Sixteen," Hiccup replied. "Four of each—well, besides Terrible Terrors. Judging from Heather's air mail, they're good with that."

"They don't have any larger, trainable dragons on Bragaoss?" Fishlegs asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Only Scauldrons and Thunderdrums out that way," Hiccup said.

The corner of Fishlegs' mouth curled in disapproval and Hiccup laughed at his reaction. Around the village, he was so serious and dignified, trying his best to make his father proud, but when he smiled he looked fifteen again and for a moment, Fishlegs recognized him. It was a comforting sight, and Fishlegs opened his mouth to appeal to the younger side of Hiccup—the friend that he still had in him, willing to spend hours talking about dragons. He wanted to tell Hiccup that it meant a lot that he still valued and trusted his judgment. He wanted to say they needed to make an effort to see more of each other, outside of festivals and dragon races. He felt like he could confide those things in Hiccup, as long as he was fifteen and laughing with him—but then Astrid called his name and Hiccup was nineteen again. He immediately refocused his attention on his lover, abandoning Fishlegs as he was compelled to do since the moment Astrid had first told him she loved him. Fishlegs supposed it was just one of those unavoidable, inescapable realities that came with maturity. Hiccup had always loved Astrid, gravitating as close to her as she ever allowed him at any given time, so it was inevitable that his adoration for her would consume him the moment nothing held him back from her.

Fishlegs envied them for it. What existed between the two of his friends was a beautiful, yet regrettable thing. Beautiful, because he had rarely seen anything so real and honest between any two people in his entire life. Perhaps, a lot of that had to do with the fact that Vikings just did not talk about such sentimental concepts with any sort of candidness—but one did not need words to describe what was so painfully obvious.

Yes. Painful and regrettable it was, too. To be eclipsed by something so powerful only served to amplify his own loneliness. In that sense, he understood Tuffnut and Snotlout's jealousy for Hiccup perfectly.

Someone really needed to tell the two lovebirds how damn fortunate they were.

* * *

Snotlout was kneeling on the ground with his supplies for the trip all laid out on the grass in front of him. Hookfang was lying beside him, basking in the summer sun, while he sought refuge from the heat in the shadow cast by his family home. It was a daunting task to pack for an entire month away from home, but he was growing more excited with each passing hour in spite of it.

"What'dya say, big guy?" he asked Hookfang. "You think you can manage to lug all of this from Berk to Bragaoss?"

The dozing Nightmare opened one eye and slapped his rider's helmet off with a swipe of his mighty tail.

"That was not a critique of your strength! Everyone knows you're the biggest, baddest dragon on this gods forsaken rock," Snotlout retorted, picking up his helmet and dusting the dirt from it. "Jackass…," he muttered under his breath.

Hookfang just closed his eyes and pretended to be deaf.

Snotlout shook his head and placed his helmet back on, straightening it out. He reached for a pile of blankets and furs, meaning to bundle them together, but the sound of laughter distracted him from packing. He glanced up to see Hiccup and Astrid walking past his house, arm-in-arm, deeply engaged in conversation. It would have been easier, and more productive, to remain silent and let them keep walking by, oblivious to his presence—but he could not pass up an opportunity to badger his cousin when one so readily presented itself.

"Oh! I'm glad we're all working so _hard_ to get ready for this trip tomorrow," he said sarcastically, immediately catching their attention; they stopped abruptly.

While Astrid glared at him with the same disgusted look on her face she always seemed to reserve just for him, Hiccup stared at him with a steady, measured expression he wore whenever they addressed each other. It was a look that was a product of a strained and reluctant friendship born from a mutual interest in dragons and loose family ties.

"I'm already packed," Hiccup replied matter-of-factly.

"Because of _course_ you are," Snotlout grumbled, rolling his eyes. He was really getting tired of how put together his cousin was. It made it difficult for his teasing to carry any weight in recent years.

"Would you like some help, Snotlout?" Hiccup asked politely—and it was infuriating.

He knew damn well that his help was neither wanted, nor required. Still, he offered in that cordial way he always did that suggested they find some sort of neutral ground between them. Snotlout was not one for Hiccup's brand of forced civility however, and there was a history between their families that made a true friendship impossible. As smart as he was, Hiccup had to know that, and still he tried. It almost made a mockery of their whole situation.

"Tell you what, Hiccup—if I run across any Red Deaths, I'll call you. In the meantime, you can fuck off," Snotlout told him in a falsely saccharine tone.

Astrid took a step forward angrily, saying, "You know _what_, asshole—?"

Hiccup grasped her wrist gently and said, "Don't. It's fine."

She spun around and stared at him incredulously.

"It is _not_ fine!" she argued.

He grasped Astrid by the shoulders and started to steer her away, much to her indignation. With a glance over his shoulder he said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Snotlout."

Snotlout bid him goodbye with a dismissive wave of his hand. He knew, as Berk's future chief, such a gesture would be considered insulting to Hiccup—but the other Viking would not retaliate. He was far too pacifistic. Snotlout chuckled to himself as the two of them walked away, Astrid voicing her protest to his cousin the entire way. Perhaps it was a blessing Astrid had never taken a liking in him? He did not know how someone as mild mannered as Hiccup tolerated her.

"What did your cousin want, son?"

Snotlout felt himself bristling instantly at his father's voice. It was an involuntary reaction of both respect and fear. He turned to see the man standing just outside their front door with a scowl on his face as he gazed after Hiccup. It was an expression his father was careful never to wear around Stoick the Vast.

"Nothing. I was just giving him a hard time," Snotlout replied, staring determinedly at the ground.

"I don't know why you invite more conversation between the two of you than is necessary. On top of that, you're going on this trip with him for a month?" Spitelout asked, disapproval evident in his voice.

"It's not just him, though. If it was, I wouldn't be going. The whole gang is flying out to Bragaoss, together," Snotlout explained.

"Your friends put him on a pedestal over you."

"All of Berk puts him on a pedestal over me, dad," Snotlout grumbled.

"Just don't let yourself buy into it, too," Spitelout demanded. "We're every bit as good as the Haddocks."

"And you _still _serve under Stoick," Snotlout muttered under his breath.

His father glared down at him furiously and Snotlout cleared his throat, averting his eyes to the ground once more.

"I dutifully serve my half-brother to better position our family in this village, not out of any great love for him or his son. Don't forget where you came from—you're the son of a bastard. We have to try twice as hard in this life to elevate ourselves above that smear your grandfather left on our name."

How could he forget? His father had taken great care to remind him of his tarnished lineage at every opportunity he had. It had almost seemed like some kind of poetic justice that the actual heir to the chiefdom had started out as such an embarrassment. It was if the gods had finally smiled upon the Jorgeson clan, offering the chance for them to ascend the social hierarchy had Hiccup failed to grow into the chief Berk needed—Snotlout had the chief's bloodline in him. He could have taken it all from Hiccup. It was what his father had groomed him for, and why belittling Hiccup had become second nature. He needed to be the stronger Viking. The better Viking. Berk needed to see that Snotlout was the preferable choice. The rivalry with his cousin had started off innocently enough with headlocks and petty insults. Then, as they had gotten older, and Snotlout had understood their sordid family history, he had sought to best Hiccup in everything he could with the intent of diminishing his credibility as the rightful heir to the Hooligans. It had worked, too. For a short while.

Then came the dragons. As much as Snotlout loved them, they had been his downfall and Hiccup's simultaneous rise to greatness. His cousin had taken everything back from—everything that was going to be his, and it was difficult to swallow. Hiccup had become the better Viking and thrown all of Snotlout's pride and posturing back in his face. Snotlout accepted that his cousin was the hero of Berk, and his future chief, but there was a mutual resentment that was embedded deep in their relationship. For Hiccup, it was from the years of torment and Snotlout's attempt to undermine his status as the rightful heir. For Snotlout, it was that he was forced to respect the person whose life it had been his goal to ruin. He did not hate his cousin for what he had become. Hiccup had done a lot for Berk, and that much was undeniable—but the sting of losing to the walking antithesis of Viking-ness had not yet worn off, even after nearly five years.

"I don't know what you're worried about dad. I may get along with him when I have to—like you do with the chief. But Hiccup and I are _not_ friends," Snotlout told his father firmly.

"Good. Make sure it stays that way."

* * *

"Are you worried at all?" Astrid asked Hiccup as she sat on his bed, watching him write a response to Heather.

"About what?"

"Being stuck with everyone on Bragaoss for a month? I mean—call me crazy, but I feel it should really just be you and me going," she told him.

He glanced up from his letter, bemused.

"You're crazy," he replied and Astrid rolled her eyes.

"Hiccup, things aren't like they used to be between all of us. I _know_ you know that," she insisted.

He sighed heavily, and Astrid knew he lamented the weakening of the friendships he had worked so hard to build.

"We still have more than a dozen dragons to manage, and each of the other riders has good insight into their particular species of dragon. Like it or not, we need their help on this, Astrid," he explained.

She frowned. He really was too intelligent for his own good, sometimes.

He finished up his letter and fastened it to the Terrible Terror Heather had sent—he had been taking care of it for her while it remained on Berk.

"Take that to Heather. It's a long flight, I know," he told the dragon, stroking its head.

The Terror nuzzled his hand affectionately before taking off through his open window. Hiccup stared after it, even after it was gone from sight. He gazed out at the sun setting on the horizon, lost in thought. He needed a distraction whenever he got that way, and there was one really effective means of getting his attention that Astrid knew of.

She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her head on the back his right shoulder. It hardly bothered him anymore, save for the occasional ache and stiffness. Her hands wandered up and down the front of his tunic, caressing his chest through the fabric.

"I think this trip may be exactly what we all need," he mused—which let Astrid know she just needed to try harder.

"Or maybe this is just part of getting older? We've changed," she replied, before trailing kisses up his neck.

"Yes, we have—and I think a month might be just enough time to get reacquainted," he said, turning to face her.

"What if you're wrong?" she asked.

He reached up and gently tugged on the end of her braid with a wistful smile.

"Then, at least I still have you," he replied. "And thank Odin for that."

000000000

**Author's Note: **Ahhh, yes. Now we are getting into the angst and feels that will guide and define the rest of this story. Finally, I feel like I can stretch out my legs again, so to speak. It sure is a different approach to write Hiccup and Astrid from the other teens' perspectives. Also, Snotlout POV! That's some new territory, for sure.

I hope I'm doing my editor proud with this—_because it's all his fault!_

More importantly, I hope y'all are still intrigued, and above all else, entertained. Investing time in these other characters and relationships is new to me.

***Please, please, please review—especially if you like what you've read. It makes me so very happy to know I'm entertaining others. It's why I'm writing, after all.***

Cheers!


	3. Adulthood: Where Platonic Love Dies

**Author's Note: **Okay, y'all, there are two things I am compelled to address:

There's an individual that leaves reviews of my stories and simultaneously addresses comments/concerns of other readers. He speaks with an authority like he knows my work and can speak for me and, well, that's because he _does_. DtothaROCK is my wonderful editor. When I am busy, as I have been this past week, he will respond to people on my behalf. Where I am more precise, addressing people individually, he is like a shotgun blast—addressing everyone through his reviews, regardless if his comments pertain to you, or not. My point is, try not to take offense to anything he says. He's a wonderful human being, his method is just…unorthodox. I just thought y'all should know so there's some context as to why DtothaROCK does what he does. He has agreed to sacrifice this small degree of anonymity.

Also, some reviews scattered between my stories seem to call into question my commitment to the canon. I know there may be places here and there in my work where I deviate from the source material—it _is_ fan fiction, after all. I never claimed to perfectly adhere to the canon, only that I try really, really hard to respect it as much as I realistically can while creating compelling stories. For example, I seriously doubt that Hiccup and Astrid are having all kinds of crazy sex according to the HTTYD2 canon—in a family film, they are probably still virgins. But, uh…that's what we have fan fiction for, right? So, yeah—if that's your constructive criticism for me, please try not to sharp shoot every little thing that is not canon, because if I have chosen to deviate from the source material a little, it is for a specific reason to advance my own narrative that I have built over 5 consecutive stories, now. This story is in danger of violating canon the most out of everything else I have written so far and I am well aware of that, which is why I was even hesitant to do another fic like this in the first place. I'm just trying to keep things interesting and will continue to do so unapologetically from here on out. I only explain myself now because I respect my loyal readers so much I felt such an explanation was needed.

That is all.

**Disclaimer: **I'm done talking for right now. Enjoy chapter 3!

0000000000

It had taken the better part of the morning to prepare for the trip east. Astrid and the others had loaded up their dragons with tents, furs, cooking instruments, and an assortment of other essentials for their month-long trip to a strange new Viking village. Astrid had naturally packed her battle axe, because it never felt quite right to leave it behind. It was practically a part of her, as Hiccup liked to tease. She did not have much need for it in recent years, so he found it amusing that she still had such a strong sense of attachment to it. It was one of the only things he could pick on her for, so he often took advantage of any opportunity to do so—but then she would retaliate with a few jokes about his metal leg, quickly shutting him up with an exasperated sigh and roll of his eyes. In all honesty, she loved their playful banter, even though she was starting to run out of legitimate things to tease him about.

She glanced over at Hiccup as he tended to the dozen juvenile dragons they were gifting to Bragaoss. He was feeding one of the Hideous Zipplebacks, laughing softly as one of its heads nudged him impatiently for paying too much attention to the other. He was truly in his element, surrounded by dragons, as if the gods had made him for nothing else. Astrid smiled fondly as he took care to scratch both heads under the chin simultaneously, placating the entire Zippleback. Berk may have been living closely with dragons for nearly five years, but no one who had quite the same level of understanding of the animals as Hiccup did. The bond between him and Toothless was obvious, but he seemed to have an unparalleled connection with dragons, in general. Astrid was willing to wager that a Nadder as loyal as Stormfly, or a Monsterous Nightmare as obstinate as Hookfang, would do just about anything Hiccup asked of them, as long as it was not directly contradicting a command from either Snotlout or herself.

"Hiccup!" she called, gesturing for him to join her as she equipped Stormfly with the last of her gear.

He made his way over to her, followed closely by Toothless. He stopped only for a moment to pat one of the young Gronckles on its snout in passing. The respect and affection he managed to spare for every dragon was admirable.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked her, absentmindedly stroking Toothless' head as the Night Fury warbled for his attention. "The dragons are getting restless."

As if to punctuate his statement, a couple of Monsterous Nightmares began wrestling playfully while the Nadders aimed spine shots at one another.

"Just about," she replied, adjusting a saddle bag on Stormfly. "I wanted to speak to you first, though."

"I hope you're not going to ask me to reconsider this whole trip, again," he said, frowning.

"I'm not going to ask you to _do_ anything. I only wanted to see if you were still alright with this—giving away our dragons, I mean," she stated, turning to face him directly.

"I do feel a certain sense of responsibility for all the dragons on Berk. Willingly giving any of them away is not the easiest decision to live with, but it's the right one. Heather's village needs our help, and I don't see any reason _not_ to honor her request. If the dragons like their new home on Bragaoss, we don't have the right to deny them that. Berk doesn't own _all _dragons."

"Just the ones that are bred here—and there's the fact that _we_ unlocked the secrets of training them."

"Not even then."

Astrid sighed heavily. She and Hiccup differed in one fundamental view of dragons. She saw them as domesticated, and he did not. Astrid felt as though their dragons were becoming so increasingly dependent on humans that, like a horse or a dog, their will was that of its rider—but Hiccup still saw them as wild and incapable of being completely tamed. He insisted the dragons lived with Vikings purely by their own choice, and that the relationship between a dragon and its rider was more of a companionship built on mutual trust and respect than an owner-pet dynamic. Maybe that was true for Hiccup and Toothless, but Astrid had seen enough dragons being treated more like the family canine than the fierce, exotic creatures Hiccup still considered them to be. If he thought all of the dragons could suddenly choose to live independent of their Vikings, then he clearly had not been spending enough time around Fishlegs and Meatlug. Their relationship was codependency at its finest.

"The dragons would stay there because they don't know any different, Hiccup. They want to be where people are—not because they have weighed other options and made that decision themselves," Astrid argued.

"While I disagree, as long as they are content and well taken care of, I fail to see the issue," he replied.

"There really isn't an issue. I just feel…possessive of our dragons, that's all. Can you blame me?"

"You sound like my father, insisting we keep our trained dragons secret from the rest of the world—like there's some hidden danger out there, waiting for us."

"And you think that's far-fetched?"

"I think, if there is anything out there, then it would only be to our advantage to have an ally as adept at training dragons as we are," he explained. "If our world is growing, Berk can't keep itself isolated forever."

Sometimes, Astrid found it really irritating to debate someone as smart as Hiccup was. He seldom argued with her, but when he did, he had a tendency to make very valid, irrefutable points.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. "I just feel like we're giving away part of our identity."

"I understand. Part of me feels the same way," he admitted.

"Well, then…let me ask you one more thing," she said, gazing up directly into his eyes. "If the request for our dragons had come from _anyone_ else but Heather, would you still have agreed?"

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow at her and stared back at her with a wary expression.

"That's the second time you've asked me if Heather is the reason I'm doing this," he replied, suspiciously. "I've already told you that the promise I made to her underlies this whole trip—but I don't think that's what you're getting at, exactly…is it?"

Astrid opened her mouth to answer him, but the young Zipplebacks had started setting off miniature explosions out of boredom, greatly agitating the Nightmares. Their response was to set themselves alight, growling threateningly at the two-headed dragons. There was no way she could hold Hiccup's undivided attention any longer amidst a dragon-related scuffle. He glanced at her apologetically as Snotlout and the Twins hurried over to offer their assistance.

"Fine. Go," Astrid said in exasperation.

"This conversation is not over," he told her, taking a few steps backward, maintaining eye contact determinedly.

Astrid nodded impatiently. Satisfied, Hiccup then turned to join the other riders attempting to wrangle the adolescent dragons under control. She watched as Ruffnut and Tuffnut calmed two of Zipplebacks while Snotlout sternly barked orders at the Monsterous Nightmares, who complied begrudgingly. A few of the dragons were still worked up, but once Hiccup stepped in, aided by a commanding snarl from Toothless, they finally seemed to settle down. Much like his rider, the Night Fury enjoyed some measure of respect among the other dragons on Berk, and could often be called upon as a mediator when all else failed.

Considering how quickly and efficiently the collaborative effort had put an end to the rapidly escalating fight, perhaps the trip would not be a complete mess, after all? At least, not as far as the young dragons were concerned. They were about half the size of their fully grown counterparts, only more spirited—but they were much easier to manage than a feisty adult dragon. Not to mention, over the years, through trial and error, all of the riders had vastly improved in their ability to train dragons—especially Snotlout and the Twins. They had finally matured just enough for their own dragons to take them more seriously. As long as they could all effectively work together for one whole month, Astrid dared to believe the job might go smoothly—or maybe Hiccup's positive attitude was starting to rub off on her. Thor, forbid.

"This is _so_ exciting, don't you think?" Fishlegs asked brightly, snapping Astrid out of her thoughts.

"Huh? What?"

"The trip! It's exciting!" he reiterated, adjusting his saddle atop his dragon. The young Gronckles hovered around him and Meatlug as he spoke.

"I guess so—if spending a month living in close quarters with Snotlout and the Twins sounds like fun to you," she replied.

Fishlegs furrowed his brow and responded, "They're not _that_ bad, Astrid. Come on. You have to admit it."

"I'll have to take your word for it. It's not like we've all been hanging out as much as we used to."

Fishlegs turned to her with a pitying expression on his face, as if she was missing something so painfully obvious.

"But it's not for lack of trying," he said. "I mean, it's hard to be as close as we used to when you and Hiccup are—"

"Alright, time to go!" Hiccup said loudly, to get everyone's attention.

"Never mind," Fishlegs muttered under his breath as he climbed into his saddle, but Astrid was not content to let it go.

She just stared at him, her interest definitely piqued, though he had moved on to distracting himself with the smaller Gronckles on either side of him. She was curious as to what Fishlegs was trying to imply before he was interrupted. She knew her relationship with Hiccup consumed most of her free time, but that was no reason for their friends to keep the two of them at arm's length. Did seeing them together make the others uncomfortable? She could not understand why it would. It was not as if they were inappropriate in front of the others—at least, not to the same extent Ruffnut so often had been with her various boyfriends. If that _was_ the case however, the double standard was infuriating.

Hiccup approached her, trailed closely by all four Nadders, one Gronckle, and one Monsterous Nightmare. The Zipplebacks were to be looked after by the twins while Snotlout and Fishlegs kept an eye on other three Nightmares and Gronckles, respectively. Astrid was to tend to three of the Nadders, while Hiccup was responsible for each of the remaining dragons, minus a Zippleback. She shot him a quizzical glance as he climbed up on Toothless' back, surrounded by three different species of dragon.

"This was the best way I could think of to divide up the workload," he told her.

Toothless seemed to feel differently, glaring at the juvenile dragons around him, incensed.

Hiccup patted him reassuringly and said, "It's okay, bud. This is only a temporary thing."

Toothless snorted impatiently, as if to say '_It had better be,' _and Astrid had to stifle a laugh at his expense. The Night Fury made enough of a compromise allowing her to take away so much of his rider's attention. She doubted he would ever warm up to the idea of Hiccup looking after three unruly young dragons for a month.

"Okay. Let's go," Hiccup told the others.

"It's about damn time!" Snotlout exclaimed, urging Hookfang into the air, always so eager to be first at everything, even when there was no competition to be had.

Every flap of the Monsterous Nightmare's mighty wings sent a gust of wind that blew back Astrid's hair. Snotlout was often oblivious to the destructive power of his own dragon, making them a formidable pair by sheer recklessness alone. She directed Stormfly skyward, just to escape the effects of Hookfang's impressive wingspan. One by one, all of the riders were airborne, followed obediently by their juvenile dragons, who seemed loath to be separated from their unusual pack. They were truly an odd sight to behold—an incongruous mass of flying reptiles mounted by an equally unconventional band of young Vikings. Toothless and Hiccup rushed past all of them, leading the way to Bragaoss while trying not to pull too far ahead in their mutual enthusiasm for thrilling speed.

"Is it strange to anyone else that he seems to know exactly how to get there?" Ruffnut asked, nodding in Hiccup's direction as he flew out ahead of them.

"He's charted the entire archipelago and then some," Astrid replied, gazing back at her. "Why would it be weird that he knows where Bragaoss is?"

"Think about it," Tuffnut interjected, as if he knew exactly what his twin sister was trying to say. "First, Heather sends a letter directly to him."

"Asking him to bring dragons there, personally," Ruffnut added.

"And he knows how to get there. So he's been there before," Tuffnut finished.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at both Thortsons, following their line of thought to its logical, albeit distasteful conclusion.

"Careful, there. I don't like what you're suggesting," she replied in a threatening tone.

Snotlout burst out laughing and said, "Really? _Hiccup_? With _two _women? HA! It still amazes me he can handle one!"

While Astrid found it comforting that she was not the only one who found the idea preposterous, Snotlout always managed to make any statement obnoxious.

"What do you mean it 'amazes you?' If you even gave him a little bit of credit, then you'd realize—!"

Snotlout interrupted her with, "I give him plenty of credit! He trained dragons. Hooray. He killed the Red Death. Big fucking whoop! I _know_ all of that. I just don't see why I'm still expected to kiss his ass about it."

Astrid felt her face grow hot—not from embarrassment, but from the effort to bite back the scathing remarks of unbridled loathing threatening to rip their way from her throat. It was not that she was concerned about hurting feelings—especially Snotlout's—but they had an entire month of living together ahead of them, and she did not want the civility to unravel before Berk had even disappeared from her sight.

"Jerk-offs," was as neutral an insult as she could manage.

She nudged Stormfly with her heels and her dragon put on a burst of speed, putting distance her and the other dragon riders. The three young Nadders beat their wings furiously to keep pace, but appeared to embrace the challenge as if it were some great game. She could hear Fishlegs calling after her, pleading for her not to leave them behind, but she ignored him in the interest of seeking more pleasant company.

"Hiccup!" she called as Stormfly gained on Toothless; thankfully the Night Fury was not flying at top speed.

Hiccup glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, shifting Toothless' prosthetic tail into a lower speed setting so her dragon did not have to exert herself as much. Their pack of young dragons mingled happily together behind them as they fly side-by-side.

"Thank you for not completely leaving us in the dust," she said with a playful grin.

"I briefly considered it, but the thought of being without you for a month was depressing," he replied.

"Well, I'm right here with you. We have the fastest dragons and a head start…" she trailed off.

"As tempting as that sounds, Heather and her people are expecting sixteen dragons. I don't know how to explain to her village they suddenly have to divide six between them all. Sixteen hardly seems enough as it is."

"Always _so_ charitable—you'd give everyone a dragon if you could."

Hiccup smirked and shook his head.

"There is a limit to even my altruism, Astrid."

"Really? I haven't seen it yet."

"Well _you_ wouldn't, due to my incapacity to tell you 'no.' I've tried. It always comes out 'whatever you want, milady.' It's funny how that works," he replied.

"Hm. So, if I said I wanted you all to myself tonight—_all_ night, then you would say…?"

"Whatever you want, milady."

The two of them shared a lingering glance, heavy with meaning, then they broke out into soft laughter. It was strange to Astrid to think conversation between them had once been so forced and awkward, as Hiccup tried so desperately to grab her attention while she so deliberately brushed him off. She wanted to kick herself for all the years wasted on cool indifference towards him—but how could she have known any better? That was a different time—a different life. They no longer lived on the same Berk, and they were not the same Hiccup and Astrid of even two years prior, keeping each other at a distance to conceal all the bitterness, hurt, and resentment of what was possibly the greatest misunderstanding of their young lives.

But that was in the past, and Astrid felt like her life had started anew from the moment Hiccup had told her he loved her. She had been completely lost in him as soon as he had taken the initiative and pressed his lips to hers. In their present reality, there was very little that came more naturally to her than being with him, enjoying all the warmth, honesty, and friendship that Hiccup so willingly and wholeheartedly gave to her with every breath he drew. They were lovers, yes. Committed to each other in an unspoken, unofficial betrothal that was mutually assumed, if never openly discussed—but at the very core of their relationship, setting the foundation for everything they were to one another, they were first and foremost best friends.

"I'm glad you decided to come up here with me," he told her, "but I don't want you to feel obligated if you are missing out on quality time with the others."

"The conversation left much to be desired," she replied. "Besides, we have a whole month of quality time to look forward to. Soon, it will be inescapable."

Hiccup grinned and said, "I stand by what I said. I think this trip is much needed for all of us, no matter what you say."

"Everything_ I_ need is right here beside me—riding on the back of a Night Fury."

* * *

"Look at the two of them. Doesn't it make you sick?" Ruffnut asked the other Vikings as they flew along behind Hiccup and Astrid, watching the couple exchange verbal affections—or at least Ruffnut assumed that was the essence of their conversation.

The two lovebirds were well out of earshot, but Ruffnut did not need to hear their words to know they were nauseatingly sappy—she had overheard them on numerous occasions before. It was almost always saccharine enough to make the bile rise in her throat. She had never suspected Astrid, as bold and independents as she was, would be one to fall victim to romance, but her friend had been devoured by the sentiment from the day Hiccup had won her hand in combat against her ex-fiancé—or maybe it had started sooner than that? She would not have been at all surprised. The two of them had been—and continued to be—so secretive about what they did in their spare time. Not that Ruffnut particularly _cared_ one way or the other. She had suspected, for quite some time, Astrid had long since relinquished her maidenhead to Hiccup, but it was not until Tuffnut had come sprinting home to regale her with the story of Hiccup's intoxicated confession to Snotlout that it was confirmed. Still, the two of them acted so composed around others, limiting themselves in their public displays of affection—as if anyone actually gave a damn. In Ruffnut's opinion, the outpouring of adoration was infinitely worse to stomach than if they happened to get a little too physical in front of her.

She and Astrid had always had some degree of friendly competition between them, since they were the only two girls their age and they belonged to the same group of friends. Being of the same sex, and sharing interests and a perspective foreign to their male-dominated group of peers, they had become close childhood friends, almost on principle. Then Astrid had been betrothed to that Svenson guy—or whatever his name was—and Ruffnut has seen significantly less of her. While she did not consider herself a particularly emotional person, she had missed her only female friend—even as a twin, there were some things she just could not confide in Tuffnut. After Astrid's arranged marriage debacle had been resolved, she had fallen head over heels for Hiccup, and had transformed into a woman unrecognizable as the girl that Ruffnut had once considered her best friend. If that was what love did to people, Ruffnut wanted no part of it.

Snotlout and Fishlegs, however, had other plans.

"Aren't you curious what it's like, though? Being in love like that?" Fishlegs asked pointedly, steering Meatlug a little closer to her and Barf; Ruffnut immediately steered Barf away, flying closer to Tuffnut and Belch.

"Yeah. Why let Hiccup and Astrid walk around like they invented it? We could give them a run for their money, baby," Snotlout added, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Ruffnut did not understand it. It was not like puberty has suddenly transformed her into a walking goddess among Vikings—Astrid had apparently received _that_ good fortune, as well. The sudden attention of both Snotlout and Fishlegs had come out of nowhere, and while their attitudes towards her may have changed, she found the idea of dating either one of them as equally repulsive as ever.

"Ugh. Seriously, guys. I just threw up in my mouth," Ruffnut grumbled, flying as close as she could to her brother without knocking their dragon's heads together.

"It's okay. It's just the result of the butterflies you get every time you're close to me," Snotlout replied.

"No. I'm pretty sure it's the result of the disgust she feels when you talk to her," Tuffnut retorted, and Snotlout scowled as Fishlegs chortled.

Ruffnut was glad her brother disapproved of dating within their circle of friends. He had never voiced his complaints when she would sneak off with just about any other young man on Berk, though she sensed his silent criticism—but he considered her to be off limits to Fishlegs and Snotlout. She did not know if that was because he had grown protective of her in some measure, or if he simply found it too uncomfortable for his best friends to be intimate with his twin sister. Either way, she was appreciative of his assistance in warding off the other men's advances.

It was not that she hated either one of them, or found them to be unattractive. The history they all shared made a relationship with them impossible. Tuffnut was her biological sibling, but growing up a tomboy, engaging in masculine talk and mannerisms with her childhood friends, she considered Fishlegs and Snotlout to be like her brothers as well. Dating them would have been too awkward, tainted by years of platonic feelings. Though romantic sentiments had the potential to develop over the years, as sometimes happened between friends, they simply had not—at least, not for her, though she suspected they had not for the two young men, either. Resistant to the notion of love, though she was, she witnessed it on a daily basis between Hiccup and Astrid. The way the Chief's son interacted with his girlfriend was vastly different than the way Snotlout and Fishlegs pursued her. What transpired between Hiccup and Astrid was tender and effortless. The advances thrown in her direction were nothing short of desperation born out of a fear of perpetual singlehood. Ruffnut was too offended at being their last ditch effort to find anything they said particularly flattering. They had failed before they had even started.

"It must suck not to have any other options," Ruffnut said to her brother, jerking her thumb in the direction of the other two young men trailing behind them.

"Try having _no_ options," Tuffnut replied, bitterly.

"I'm not the last girl on Berk," She retorted, frowning. "What about Erna Bengtsdotter? She's—"

"Sixteen."

"Legal enough to—"

"Agh! _No_."

"Well, if you weren't so—"

"Reasonable?"

Ruffnut rolled her eyes with a groan. She did not understand why her brother was so insufferably picky. He had been perfectly content to be unattached and romantically involved with no one up until recently. She blamed Hiccup and Astrid, really. Marriage had never been a word that plagued their group of friends, until Astrid had decided to hook up with the Chief's son. Hiccup's duty to their tribe, to wed and produce the next heir, had suddenly inspired much conversation around the village about "Hiccup and Astrid's impeding nuptials this" and "Haddock-Hofferson wedding that." It weighed so much on Berk's collective consciousness, that it seemed Ruffnut's parents had gotten in their minds it was time for their own children to be married. Apparently, the Jorgenson and Ingerman clans were putting the pressure on Snotlout and Fishlegs as well. What other explanation was there for the sudden preoccupation with committed relationships where there previously had been none?

"Tell you what, it will be a relief when Hiccup and Astrid are finally married," Ruffnut said.

"Yeah. Maybe the rest of the village can shut up about it, and we can go back to not giving a shit?" Tuffnut grumbled in agreement.

"That _would_ be nice."

"Hey, Ruff!" Snotlout called. "So, if you get lonely tonight, there is plenty of room in my tent..."

Ruffnut slapped the palm of her hand to her forehead in exasperation, nearly knocking her helmet loose.

"Yeah!" Tuffnut answered for her. "There's plenty of room for her because you're so short!"

Ruffnut grinned at her brother's wit and at Snotlout's affronted scowl.

"You can share mine, too," Fishlegs offered, a little more timidly. "In case you get tired of always sharing a tent with Tuff—"

"I brought my own damn tent!" Ruffnut snapped, voice echoing around them.

She tried to squash down her embarrassment as Hiccup and Astrid whipped around, alarmed at her outburst. Relationships really were more trouble than they were worth. Perhaps she really needed to give up on such messy affairs altogether? It would certainly save her a lot of grief.

000000000

**Author's Note:** So, essentially what I've been doing up until this point is laying the framework for all the different relationship conflicts that are the driving force behind this fic. I hope to move into more of the actual...er..."meat and potatoes" of the fic. Y'know...important stuff n' things. I hope y'all are still enjoying the ride. :)


	4. Groping In the Darkness

**Author's Note**: There will be mature content in this chapter, and scattered throughout that chapters that follow. I am talking about sex, y'all. While it'll all be pretty mild and poetic compared to what you can find on the site (I don't want to be flagged by the mods again), I wanted to warn y'all that it's inescapable from now on. You'll be tripping over some sexual content here and there as you make your way through the rest of this fic. If that offends you well…uh…fair warning, I guess? Sorry. Sometimes the occasion calls for it. I know sex scenes can sometime feel out of place and break up the flow of the narrative, but I don't like to write sex scenes that are so graphic and raunchy, and overall contrary to the rest of the story's tone. Hopefully, I managed to avoid such awkwardness, and the sex makes sense in context, because if you have been reading my Hiccstrid fics up until now, I mean…it was kind of inevitable I'd write a love scene between them again. Lord knows I've certainly hinted at it enough.

Oops. Was that a spoiler?...Uh…I mean, I'm an avid Hiccstrid writer, so is it? Is it, _really_?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the HTTYD franchise. Sadly. Well, I guess just sadly for me, anyway.

0000000000

There was just something so liberating about riding dragons. It was exhilarating to combine one's will with a creature so powerful and magnificent—all of the pounds of muscle, bone, and sinew heeding the simplest of commands a rider saw fit to give. It had not lost its appeal, even after nearly five years of almost daily flights around Berk and its surrounding islands. Hiccup would come up with almost any excuse to hop on Toothless' back and leave the ground far below him as they soared uninhibited through the sky together. From such heights, all the stress and expectations that smothered him back home seemed so inconsequential, and it was with a slight reluctance that his feet reunited with earth, eager only to part from it again. He had a perfectly good pair of legs, capable of carrying him from one end of Berk to the other, but walking just seemed so inefficient when compared to a short, and infinitely more enjoyable dragon's flight. He supposed that was just one of the defining characteristics of what made a dragon rider—any chore was made better if dragons were involved.

That was how he came to volunteer himself for first watch as he and his friends made camp on a small heap of rock well outside of Berk's waters. They were in Marauder territory, with only a brief morning's flight separating them from their final destination on Bragaoss. He doubted that they would encounter any roaming bands of barbarians, but they all had agreed upon taking shifts and keeping watch anyway. It was proving to be a dull and uneventful task, but he was flying alone with Toothless, and little else brought such respite to his soul—he could not really complain.

The water below him was still and quiet except for the gentle lapping of the waves against the rocky shoreline of their tiny island. The moonlight on the surface of the sea danced from the occasional ripple that disturbed its otherwise peaceful reflection. A glance down at their camp revealed all of the other dragons were fast asleep, either curled up beside the tent of their respective riders, or in the case of the juvenile dragons, nestled together in a comforting mass of claws, wings, and tails. The campfire flickered feebly as its embers stubbornly clung to the last vestiges of life. A couple hours had passed since the flames had last been stoked. As far as Hiccup could tell, he and Toothless were the only souls still awake.

"As silent as the stars," he said aloud. "No Marauders in sight—I think it's safe to assume we'll be alright for one night."

Toothless warbled in agreement.

"What do you say, bud? One last sweep of the island? This time, we'll go at your pace," he told the Night Fury.

Toothless growled softly, rolling his shoulders beneath Hiccup to communicate his willingness for more daring aerial stunts. Hiccup grinned broadly and they dove towards the sea below, leveling back out just short of skimming the surface. He shifted Toothless' prosthetic into its fastest setting, and he could hear the hiss of the sea spray from their burst of speed. He had chosen to fly without his riding leather for his midnight patrol, and his tunic flailed wildly against his skin as the wind assaulted him. Toothless banked to the left and cleared the island in a wide arch as they circled around the rocky land mass one final time. Upon reaching their starting point, the Night Fury climbed skyward, and Hiccup humored him, readjusting the tailfin for Toothless' rapid ascent. As the dragon rushed toward the silver clouds above, illuminated by the waxing moon, Hiccup could feel the astonishing power behind every beat of Toothless' wings. His dragon's strength radiated through every subtle movement and up through Hiccup's fingertips as he tightly gripped the leather riding harness. He could almost read Toothless' mind, anticipating that dragon's movements and clicking the tail prosthetic into its necessary position to accommodate. They both lived for the thrill of it all, neither one of them being more in control than the other. Toothless needed Hiccup's highly intuitive—almost instinctual—skills to keep him airborne, while Hiccup could not, and would never, feel more compatible on another dragon. When they soared through the air, they were one in the same—one mind and one will. It was indescribable, often breathtaking, and there was nothing else quite like it in the world.

They flew for a little while longer as Hiccup gave Toothless the opportunity the stretch out his wings, unencumbered by a pack of juvenile dragons to look after. The enthusiastic rumbling in Toothless' throat told him the Night Fury was very appreciative for some much needed, uninhibited flight time. On Berk, Hiccup tried to give Toothless as much of his undivided attention as he could, but his mounting responsibilities as future chief of the Hairy Hooligans made such spontaneous and carefree excursions difficult. They took morning and evening flights whenever Hiccup could manage it, but there was another, sweeter distraction that often called him away from dragon riding. When it came to how he would rather spend his time, it was an easy decision between chief duties and flying, but it was a much tougher choice whenever Astrid was involved. Toothless appeared to be understanding, or at the very least, he tolerated the extensive amount of time Hiccup spent with his girlfriend, but it did not make Hiccup feel any less guilty about the occasional neglect. Toothless and Astrid were the two most important parts of his life, and choosing between the two of them was far more difficult than it had any right to be.

Enough time had passed by, and from the moon's position in the sky, Hiccup figured it was time to switch watch duty with another dragon rider. He did not want his midnight flight to end, but even he had to sleep sometime. As Toothless glided through the wisps of low-lying clouds, he patted the dragon's thick neck, feeling a twinge of remorse at the Night Fury's disappointed growl.

"I know. I don't want to quit either, but it's time to call it a night. We've been at this for a while. Sorry, bud," he told Toothless apologetically. "Astrid and Stormfly are—"

Toothless gave an indignant half-glance back at him, followed by an impatient snort.

"I don't think I like your tone," he replied with a frown.

The Night Fury warbled in protest and Hiccup sighed heavily.

"_Toothless_, don't be like that. We've got a whole month away from Berk. I'll be helping train dragons during the day, but there are no other distractions to worry about. We'll get plenty of flying in!"

Toothless gave one shake his head with a soft rumbling in his throat.

"Look, we can get up early this morning before the others are ready to leave and go again, but you have _got_ to let me sleep."

The Night Fury did not respond to his plea.

"Okay. You win. Double portions of fish for a week?"

Still nothing. Hiccup leaned forward so that they could make eye contact, and Toothless just stared back at him skeptically.

He quirked an eyebrow at the dragon and said, "_Two_ weeks?"

Toothless seemed to consider the offer for a moment, and with a satisfied twitch of his ear nubs, he complied. He changed course for the camp below and Hiccup straightened back up, wearily running his fingers through his wind-tousled hair.

"When all else fails, there's always bribery…" he muttered under his breath as Toothless glided over the tops of the trees.

They landed smoothly near the perimeter of the clearing, on the very edge of the campsite. The fire had finally burnt itself out, leaving nothing behind but faint smoky coils reaching towards the stars above. No one, human nor dragon, stirred as they approached. Hiccup unhooked himself from Toothless' riding apparatus, noticing the Night Fury yawn as he dismounted.

"I saw that," he told Toothless with a smirk.

The dragon "laughed" and swatted at him playfully with a massive claw.

"Don't get defensive! _You're _the one yawning—you big hypocrite!" Hiccup replied, aiming a few haphazard punches at Toothless' scaly shoulder.

The Night Fury warbled enthusiastically and began nudging him incessantly with his snout, trying to knocking him off balance. Hiccup chuckled and pressed his palms firmly to each side of Toothless' wide jaw, trying to ward off the relentless onslaught of affectionate prodding.

"I said 'I'm not interested!' Are you deaf?" came an irritable voice from up ahead.

Both Hiccup and Toothless abruptly quit their mock-wrestling and glanced towards the small collection of A-frame tents as a lanky figure strode towards the center of camp, followed closely by a shorter, stouter individual.

"Come on, Ruff—when you think about it, we just make sense!"

Hiccup recognized the second voice instantly as Snotlout's. Almost twenty long years of being relentlessly tormented by his cousin made him confident he could pick out the other young man's voice in a crowd—not that it was too difficult a task. Snotlout's voice enjoyed the distinguished honor of being both obnoxiously loud _and_ distinct.

"Yeah. We make about as much sense as a Zippleback with one head," Ruffnut replied sarcastically.

"You can't tell me you forgot about that one time we—"

"Oh my gods! You're _still_ hung up on that?" Ruffnut asked, incredulously.

Hiccup could not make out her facial expression in the moonlight, but he could tell by the body language of her silhouette that she was not amused. The other two Vikings had not yet noticed him standing there, only a few yards away in the shadow of the tree line, and he could not help but feel their argument was not meant to be overheard—even if they were not being particularly clandestine about it. His own tent was the nearest refuge to him, and he hoped that he and Toothless could be inconspicuous enough to make their way in that direction, without drawing any undue attention to themselves. Snotlout and Ruffnut were not known for being especially observant, but thick as they could be, he did not want to be discovered, unwillingly thrust into the center of their lover's quarrel—or whatever it was they were currently having.

"I don't understand. Why kiss me if you didn't even feel the least bit attracted to me?" Snotlout asked.

Hiccup was trying so very hard to block out their conversation from his mind. He was curious by nature, but not meddlesome; he found eavesdropping distasteful. He really did not care to know his cousin's private business, especially if it involved Ruffnut in any way. They very thought made him nauseous. Some secrets were just not meant to be shared among friends.

"It's called mead, dumbass, and I had a lot of it. Anyway, it was _one time_—three years ago!"

"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it," Snotlout replied smugly.

"Yes I can. Because I didn't," Ruffnut retorted.

"I seem to recall your tongue down my throat."

Oh, dear Thor. Why did things have to so frequently turn awkward with his friends—even when he was in no way involved? Thankfully, his tent was only a few feet away, and Toothless could move quite silently for a dragon. Some of the younger dragons stirred at the ruckus, but seemed ultimately unperturbed by the scandalous lives of Vikings as they simply settled back in a more comfortable position.

"Ugh. I was _drunk_, okay? So were you! Good thing, too. I probably would've been sick all over the place!"

"You weren't about to stop, though."

"What are you talking about, idiot? I _did_ stop!"

"Only because Hiccup walked by and you were too embarrassed to be caught sucking face!"

"Anyone would be embarrassed to be caught kissing _you_!"

Hiccup felt a wave of relief as he reached his tent, drawing back the cloth so he could slip inside and make himself scarce. Toothless laid down beside Stormfly, who was still sleeping soundly, and continued to watch the other two Vikings argue with mild interest.

"_Hiccup_?" Ruffnut asked suddenly, in alarm.

He froze in the threshold of his tent, silently cursing his misfortune, wishing only for a brief moment the gods would strike him dead. There were only a handful of situations more uncomfortable than being reluctantly drawn into someone else's personal affairs. When the individuals in questions happened to be Ruffnut and his cousin, well—he really did not want to imagine them intimate with anyone, much less each other. The resulting nightmares would never cease.

"Hey guys! What are you doing up at this hour? I didn't know anyone else was awake!" he exclaimed brightly—feigning ignorance seemed like the most appropriate strategy in his current circumstance.

"What are _you_ doing awake?" Snotlout asked suspiciously.

"I had the first watch, remember? So, hey—perfect timing, right? I was going to trade off with Fishlegs, but if both of you are already awake then—"

"I'll go," Ruffnut quickly volunteered.

"W-Wait! I thought we were—!" Snotlout protested.

"Nothing." Ruffnut interrupted. "We were nothing!"

She roused Barf and Belch, who seemed momentarily bewildered that only one of his riders desired his attention. She climbed up onto Barf's neck, settling in behind his head and Belch growled irritably at the thought of being dragged along.

"Aren't we going to talk about this?" Snotlout asked impatiently.

"We would—if there was something to talk about," Ruffnut replied.

The Zippleback stretched out his wings and Snotlout leapt aside to avoid being knocked to the ground. In the moonlight, Hiccup could make out the dejected rounding of his cousin's shoulders as they watched Ruffnut fly off into the darkness, leaving them both to linger behind in an awkward silence. Hiccup could not begin to fathom Snotlout's attraction to the coarse and brusque female Thortson, but he sensed his cousin's disheartened pouting was legitimate. He opened his mouth to offer his sympathies, or at the very least, some small word of encouragement—but what could he say to Snotlout that the other young man would not immediately misconstrue as disingenuous? Any past attempts to be supportive or pay Snotlout an honest compliment were taken as facetious, and Hiccup had grown so weary of trying to force an amiable turn in their relationship. He was not ignorant to the frayed family ties that regrettably connected them, and the bitterness the Jorgenson clan still felt about the illicit wanderings of their grandfather. Hiccup resented the man, too. He did not think it fair that the adulterous nature of one person could forever sully the bonds between relatives.

Snotlout turned to stare at him, his expression undeterminable in the dark, obscured by shadow. Hiccup gazed back at his cousin expectantly, waiting for either some snide remark or reproach that would give him an excuse to retreat into his tent in frustration.

"This is _your_ fault," Snotlout said, brandishing a finger at Hiccup accusingly.

"How, exactly, is it my fault Ruffnut wants nothing to do with you?" he replied, furrowing his brow.

"Every time I try to have a moment alone with her, there _you_ are!" Snotlout snapped.

Hiccup thought that was a little unfair, when it seemed more accurate that he could not go anywhere without running into other people's dramatic exchanges. Apparently, he was cursed in that way.

"Well, now you know how Astrid and I feel," he retorted flatly. "Anyway, I was not the one who told the two of you to have it out in the middle of camp. If you don't want to be interrupted, keep your private affairs, well…private. You know, like normal people?"

"We were! We started off in her tent and—"

"Whoooa! Whoa, whoa! Don't care," Hiccup said loudly, holding up his hands.

He did not need mental images of Snotlout and Ruffnut passionately intertwined as one of the last thoughts on his mind before he drifted off to sleep.

"It's not like _that_!" Snotlout hissed. "Not yet, anyway."

"Look, it doesn't matter to me one way or the other, Snotlout. It really doesn't. All I care about is whether you two can work together for the next month, or not."

If they were not sleeping together, then whatever other unresolved issues they had were proving burdensome enough to get in the way. He was not looking forward to entire month of Snotlout and Ruffnut's bickering and heartache, so he could only hope they could settle their differences, or set them aside long enough to collaborate on dragon training for a few short weeks.

"I'm not the problem! She's—"

"Must you always blame things on everyone else?" Hiccup asked impatiently. "It's always excuses with you."

"Must _you_ be so damn high and mighty?"

"I'm not—!"

"Pfft! Whatever!" Snotlout said dismissively, turning back towards his own tent.

Hiccup glared after his cousin, waging an internal struggle between simply not giving Snotlout's discourteous behavior a second thought and calling him back to work it out like adults. It would have been an easy choice, to demand his cousin to answer for his rudeness and pay him the proper respect, but to invite further contest between Snotlout and himself was counter intuitive, since arguing with his cousin was tantamount to debating a boulder. He did not know why he was still bothered by their rivalry after so many years of the same insolence, and so many years of an uncertain, often volatile companionship between them. If it were anyone else, Hiccup would have given up on maintaining a friendship long ago, but he simply could not do the same where his cousin was concerned. Perhaps it was some deep-seeded sentiment bolstered only by the fact that they were related, and thus compelled to care by even the most infinitesimal of margins? He honestly did not understand it, but it did not diminish his compulsion to tirelessly pursue an improved relationship with Snotlout.

"Do you hate me…_that_ much?" he questioned as his cousin walked away from him.

Snotlout paused only for a moment, and in the darkness, Hiccup could not determine whether the other Viking was casting so much as a half-glance in his direction. In the end, he supposed it did not really matter. He never did receive an answer as Snotlout retreated into his own tent, hastily drawing it shut behind him, and Hiccup decided he did not have the patience to play games with his cousin for the next month—if that was how Snotlout wanted it to be.

He frowned and threw back the opening of his tent the rest of the way, ready to collapse beside Astrid and put an end to the whole uncomfortable evening. As he stepped inside, he nearly collided with his girlfriend, who had been kneeling at the threshold. Both of them gave a gasp of surprise.

"Astrid?" he asked into the darkness.

"Hiccup!" she exclaimed, scooting back to let him inside.

"What are you doing?" he inquired, puzzled.

"What are _you_ doing?"

"Having yet another asinine argument with Snotlout. Why are you still awake?"

"Because you were having yet another asinine argument with Snotlout. It sounded pretty serious, though," Astrid said, crawling back to the pile of furs laid out as a makeshift bed.

"The only thing serious is the mutual contempt we have for one another," Hiccup said wryly.

"You can't blame yourself for his idiocy," she replied.

"I don't—but I don't really blame him for it either," he responded, pulling his tunic off over his head, discarding it. "Does that make me really foolish?"

He felt her fingertips brush his arm as she groped for his hand in the dark.

"No. It makes you generous and forgiving," she answered, gently grasping his wrist.

He allowed her to pull him down to his knees beside her, and though he could not see her face, he could sense the warmth she exuded. There was a joy and a comfort in knowing the woman he loved was both outspoken and unwavering in her support of him. It almost made him feel invincible—like he could weather any storm with Astrid there to cheer him on.

"…and maybe just a_ little_ bit foolish," she added teasingly.

Hiccup laughed softly and reached up to caress her face, feeling her lean into his touch.

"So supportive," he murmured sarcastically at her playful jab, before kissing her forehead.

"At least I am now, anyway," she replied, resting her hands against his chest. "I mean, if only I had a little more foresight a few years ago, then—"

"Don't," he interrupted. "There's no point in dwelling on that anymore."

Astrid sighed in exasperation and said, "You're _too_ forgiving sometimes, and—"

"There's nothing to forgive. Things were different then."

"_You_ weren't—not really."

"Do you love me now?"

"I—Yes! Is that not completely obvious?" she asked, bemused.

Hiccup grinned, though he knew she could not see it.

"Then everything that happened between us—or didn't happen—doesn't matter. I don't hold any of it against you—what you did, or the things that were said."

Astrid threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. As she pressed their bodies together, he could feel every sweet and subtle curve of her slender figure through the fabric of the thin, baggy tunic she often wore to bed. Suddenly, sleep did not seem like such a priority anymore. What was important—what was _always_ important—was the woman he loved in his arms, and his insatiable need to satisfy her in all things.

He tilted her face up towards his and kissed her softly with unspoken questions—did she want him just as badly as he wanted her in that moment, and would she so selflessly submit herself to his desires for another night? One of her hands came up to tangle itself in his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened their kiss with a faint moan against his lips.

It was the answer he needed.

He grasped the bottom hem of her top, breaking their kiss only to relieve her of the offending article of clothing, before their lips collided again, harder, and more insistent than before. In the dim moonlight, when adequate sight was lacking, the sensation of skin on skin was electrifying. Robbed of one of his senses, the others compensated. The feel of Astrid's body pressed against his, combined with the taste of her lips and the scent of hair were more intoxicating than they ever had been before. As she nipped playfully at his bottom lip, he pulled her hair loose from her braids.

"Hiccup?" she whispered as she began trailing kisses along his jaw.

"Hmn?"

"Touch me…"

It was such a simple request comprised of two very basic words, but it was enough to drive him to the brink of insanity—where self-control teetered precariously on a knife's edge over the bottomless chasm of a primal lust. Usually so composed and even-tempered, though he was, Astrid was his downfall. She was the one thing he could not resist. He could drown in his hopeless desire for her, and never would he think twice about it. So much of the time, he was required to act the part of a chief—dignified and self-assured—it was a relief to lose himself in Astrid. In her arms he came undone, and it was perfection.

He eased her back against the blankets as she gently bit his neck, which she was always mindful to do since he had first admitted to her that he liked it. Even after two years, it still made his pulse quicken. Their lips found each other again, tongues sensually dueling for dominance as his hands roamed over her body. It did not matter how many times he had explored all of her contours, or that he had committed her naked figure to memory. He still felt a hot thrill coarse through his veins with every inch of her soft skin that passed beneath his fingertips.

It was so incredibly validating that she arched into _his _hands, and that it was _his_ name she moaned in the darkness, in spite of the fact that he was, well,_ him_ and she was the embodiment of all things fierce, and beautiful, and mind-blowingly flawless. She wanted him, and while he did not fully understand it, he did not question it. If she wanted him, she could have him. All of him—and everything that was within his capacity to give. He knew she still felt terrible for how she had treated him in the past, as evident by their conversation only moments before, but he accepted that was how things had unfolded, and how they were meant to be. It was done and over with and could not be changed. It may have been regrettable, but he was certain it only contributed to how deeply they appreciated each other in the present—and for that, he was grateful; incapable of taking her for granted.

His lips had moved to her neck, placing open-mouth kisses against the tender skin, on his deliberate journey to her breasts. Astrid squirmed enticingly beneath him as he came closer to his ultimate goal—well, _goals_. It would have been too easy to just give in to what they both wanted, but he grinned deviously and deliberately bypassed her chest in favor of planting sweet kiss to her well-toned stomach. The irritated groaned he earned from her only made him chuckle against her abdomen.

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock—!"

"The third—"

"I swear, if you do not stop teasing me…"

He laughed and brought his hands to her breasts, fondling and caressing her pointedly.

"_Yes_?" he asked playfully, in a mockingly innocent tone of voice.

"Fuuuck," Astrid swore.

"That's the general idea."

He replaced his fingers with his lips and Astrid gave up on intelligible speech at that point. It only heightened his own pleasure to know that he was satisfying her in a way no one else could—not that others hadn't tried. Whatever traits he possessed that stirred Astrid's passion for him, he was infinitely thankful the gods had seen fit to gift him with. It would kill him to know Astrid had sought the affections of some other man. It had been painful enough to think of her engaged to someone else when they were not even together. He did not know if she had even the slightest clue how vital it was to his very existence—the love and intimacy she shared with him, and him alone. For as much as it broke his cool, calm facade, shattering all pretense of self-control, it also held him together. Such was the nature of love—confusing and tumultuous, chaotic yet serene, and completely and utterly wonderful.

Astrid's fingers sought the fastening of his pants, deftly working to free him from his confines which had grown uncomfortably tight. Knowing the inevitable next step in undressing himself, he backed away from her to remove his prosthetic. She sat up immediately, and fumbled in the darkness for him.

"Let me do it," she said softly, her hand sliding down his thigh.

He quirked an eyebrow, puzzled.

"Why—?"

"Because…" she began, searching for an answer. Then, she settled for, "Just because."

Still perplexed, he made no protest as Astrid found his metal leg and gently removed it. He did not really know why he was always so resistant to let her handle it. He was not embarrassed by the prosthetic and he knew Astrid did not care. It had just been one of those things about himself—the need to deal with his own shortcomings, sparing Astrid both the inconvenience and the indecency.

She set the leg aside for a moment, only to remove his last remaining articles of clothing. Completely naked, he sat there waiting for her to reattaching his prosthetic, but her hands wandered over his leg, caressing what remained of it with a tenderness and a reverence he had not expected. When she did replace his metal limb, she paused for a moment, and though Hiccup could not feel it, he heard her softly kiss the perpetual reminder of his heroism.

It was all so strangely erotic.

"Astrid, I—"

She silenced him with a kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her in a clumsy and uncoordinated movement. They kissed deeply and Hiccup brought his hands to her hips, easing her underwear down her legs until they were both equally nude. There were times for going slow, and taking his time—for teasing her and prolonging their pleasure—but that night was not such an occasion. Two years had been sufficient for him to learn her subtle, nonverbal cues, and the rate of her breathing, with the way her thighs trembled beneath his hands, told him she was impatient—and gods only knew, so was he.

He settled between her legs, and in that moment, he regretted the lack of light. He wanted to see her face, and look her in the eyes as he took her. He knew such sentiments were not often expressed through the typical stories of sexual conquests swapped among Viking men. Such details were far too personal and intimate to share—or perhaps it was that words were not adequate enough to describe the weight of that moment? There was no shortage of conversation among men on how exquisite it felt physically, and as he buried himself inside of her, all descriptions of tightness and heat proved as true as ever—but there was far more to it than that. The way she gasped and threw her legs around him, pulling him closer, taking him deeper—or the way she would have gazed up at him as they both simultaneously achieved that level of fulfillment that only the other person could give them, in a mutual understanding that she was completely his, and he was entirely hers. It was all communicated without words. They seldom spoke during their lovemaking anymore, whenever they started moving in tandem. There was no need for words. None could ever be worthy enough.

Astrid pressed her face into his shoulder, moaning softly with every thrust of his hips, but he could do better. He could take her higher. She needed it, and she deserved it, so he moved harder and faster, drawing the most beautiful cries from her lips that boiled the blood in his veins. Her pleasure was everything to him. The driving force behind every kiss, every touch, every movement—her needs first, his always second. He knew Astrid would rather die than be so vulnerable and raw for anyone else, and so he cherished every uncharacteristic sigh and whimper she made for him—not that he was not reciprocating. She brought forth the most foreign sounds from his throat; he did not know he was capable of making them otherwise. He did not know if they could be overheard, but he could not bring himself to care. They were not on Berk. There was no one to punish them for perceived impropriety. They could make love with abandon, free from consequence.

It had grown stifling in their tent, made worse by the fact that it was midsummer, and time had become some trivial thing. He did not know how long they had been at it, nor did it matter, really—they were both panting, skin slick with sweat. Astrid grew suddenly quiet, her passionate cries dissolving into sweet sighs of pleasure that indicated she was rapidly approaching the precipice, staring into the face of her impending climax. It excited him to no end that he could bring her to that point, where she was ready and willing to dive off the cliff into the sweet sea of release. He was right there with her, quickly breaking down to the point where he would no longer be able to hold his back. All Astrid needed was that last little shove. They both did.

He kissed her lips softly before sliding his tongue into her mouth as she gently raked her fingernails down his back. With a couple more vigorous thrusts into her perfect sex, she screamed out his name and tightened around him—her arms, her legs, her _everything_. It was all too much, and what he had been eagerly waiting for, testing the limits of his patience and stamina. He could hear her strangled sobs of pleasure and feel the spasms coursing through her entire being, setting off his own orgasm in response. She was satisfied, and so he could be consumed as well, swept up in a state of being absent of all thought and rationality, where nothing else existed but Astrid and the white hot electricity that assaulted every nerve and resonated down to his very core. Wave after wave hit him, and there was nothing he could do but be caught in the undertow of a boundless pleasure he knew he could experience with no one else, for sex with any other woman would be a dull echo of what he had with Astrid—a pathetic recreation which would ultimately leave him empty and dissatisfied with the memory of a love much stronger.

They remained coupled a moment longer, soaking in the afterglow, and then he collapsed beside her, breathing heavily as the world materialized around him once more, engulfing him in the vague shadows cast by the dim moonlight that filtered into his tent from outside. He felt Astrid rest her head on his chest, curling up against him with a sigh of the deepest contentment.

"I love you," he heard her whisper.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair affectionately, appreciating the silky texture as the flaxen strands slipped between his fingers.

"I love you, too," he replied.

As they laid there, he could sense Astrid's mental disquiet, and he could feel the tenseness in her muscles beneath his hands. Sometimes, he wished the woman would allow her mind to be wiped clean by the throes of passion, just as his was. She would certainly be much happier for it.

"Hiccup, I need to ask you something…" she said finally.

He really wished she would not. His brain had not returned to its full functionality yet.

"What is it?" he replied, in spite of himself.

"You've…been to Bragaoss before, right?" she asked quietly—almost hesitantly.

"Yes. Once. To chart it."

"That's all?"

"_Yes_."

He was not oblivious to what was going on in Astrid's mind—it had been raging in her like a storm since Heather's letter had first arrived. Under normal circumstances, Astrid was not a jealous person—but there was nothing normal about the way Heather kept reintroducing herself into their lives. Still, he could not understand _why_ Astrid felt she had cause to doubt his fidelity. It was a little insulting, especially considering what had just occurred between them. He did not mean to keep putting off the conversation she so desperately wanted to have, but sleep was coming on fast and he did not have the strength to fight it off.

"Let's talk about this tomorrow," he said, stifling a yawn. "Before we leave. I haven't forgotten our conversation from earlier."

"What conversation? Before we had sex?" she asked curiously.

"No. Even earlier today. Before we left Berk."

"Oh. _That_," Astrid said, absentmindedly stroking his lower abdomen with her fingertips. "Hiccup, listen—"

"Tomorrow. Okay?"

Astrid sighed heavily but relented.

"Fine. Tomorrow, then."

Satisfied, Hiccup closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep. The last thought that crossed his mind was that Toothless was going to have to forgive him. He seriously doubted he would wake early enough for the Night Fury's liking, but there were some things even a dragon could not understand—post-coital exhaustion was one of them.

* * *

Fishlegs awoke early that morning as thin beams of sunlight peeked in through the gaps in his tent. He tried to roll over and drift off to sleep once more, but he heard a commotion outside that was making it impossible. Honestly, some people had no respect for needs of others. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and listened to the words being exchanged.

"Maybe I _have _been up all night, but I'm telling you, I have a bad feeling about this!" Ruffnut insisted.

"We'll just take Barf and Belch out there and blow it up—end of story," Tuffnut replied. "We've done it, like, a thousand times before."

"Without telling Hiccup first?" Ruffnut asked hesitantly.

"_Hello_! There's no academy anymore! Hiccup hasn't been in charge of us for months," Snotlout countered. "I don't see why you want to run to him for every little thing. It's one ship. We sink it. What's the point of having a patrol if you aren't go to_ do_ anything about the problem? Hiccup doesn't have to know."

"I don't run to Hiccup!" Ruffnut snapped defensively. "Normally, I don't think twice before setting something on fire…but I just think he should know before we go blowing up Marauder longships."

Fishlegs felt his stomach knot unpleasantly. At the mention of Marauders, the last bit of his grogginess evaporated, and he scrambled out of his tent, pulling on a tunic, squinting in the bright summer sun rising up over the sea.

"Wait, wait!" he exclaimed. "What's going on?"

His friends were a peculiar sight to behold, standing around in various states of undress, as they had not yet bothered to change from their sleeping attire. Both Tuffnut and Snotlout were bare-chested, wearing only loose-fitting leggings and oddly enough, their helmets. Apparently, the headgear was more crucial than shirts or boots. Ruffnut was more clothed, but Fishlegs could not help but notice she was not wearing any bindings beneath her thin tunic, and he tried not to stare as her breasts moved freely with even the smallest gestures.

Oh, dear Odin. Why did the female form have to be such a wonderfully enticing thing?

"Did you hear me?" Ruffnut asked, snapping him out of his daze. "That's clearly a Marauder ship out there, right?"

Fishlegs glanced out at the horizon between a break in the foliage and saw an ominous-looking longship in the distance, floating languidly by their island. The crudely painted Skrill on its sail was unmistakable—a reminder of when they used to be a united tribe under the tyrannical rule of Dagur the Deranged. He felt a stab of dread, but squashed it down when he realized there was no immediate threat—the Marauders were not sailing in their direction, unaware there were dragon riders close by.

"Is it just one ship?" he asked curiously, his gaze determinedly avoiding Ruffnut's chest.

"Just the one, as far as I can tell," she replied.

It was certainly unusual for a single Marauder ship to be sailing so openly in broad daylight, but then again, they were not exactly in friendly territory. There was only one logical solution in Fishlegs' mind.

"Where is Hiccup?" he asked.

Snotlout slapped his palm against his forehead with an aggravated groan.

"Tent. Probably," Tuffnut answered, pointing to the opposite end of the campsite.

It was true that they had not needed to rely on Hiccup's judgment since the dragon academy had dissolved, and he had not exactly been a constant presence within their circle of friends in the recent months—but if there was one thing Fishlegs could count on, it was that Hiccup always brought a sound and levelheaded perspective to problem-solving. Snotlout seemed to challenge him purely on principle, whereas the Twins though every threat should be immediately neutralized with dragons' fire, in as brilliant and destructive an explosion as possible. Since Hiccup was the most reasonable mind among them, his was the opinion Fishlegs would trust.

He hurried across the campsite as the other riders waited impatiently to mount their dragons for an assault on the enemy vessel. Toothless and Stormfly raised their heads simultaneously as he approached Hiccup's tent, staring at him curiously, and Fishlegs was suddenly thankful to be a Hooligan. He would not want to be on the receiving end of a coordinated attack between a Deadly Nadder and a Night Fury—especially two dragons as fiercely protective of their riders as Toothless and Stormfly were.

"Hiccup?" Fishlegs called, cautiously drawing back the opening flap of the tent.

His breath caught in his throat and he felt his internal temperature rising so quickly, he thought he might combust from embarrassment. Hiccup and Astrid were both very awake and very naked. She was situated between his legs, leaning back against him as she braided her long, golden hair. They were gazing fondly at one another in that tender way they so often did, and the only saving grace for Fishlegs' sanity was that Astrid was covered up to her waist in furs.

Hiccup glanced up when he heard his name and Fishlegs immediately closed the tent, hearing his heart hammering away in his ears. His mouth suddenly felt dry and full of sand, and it had become difficult to swallow. He was kicking himself for momentarily forgetting that Astrid and Hiccup were cohabitating for the entire month.

"Fishlegs?" he heard Hiccup inquire from inside the tent.

"Hiccup! Can I speak to you outside for a minute?" Fishlegs replied, his voice sounding unusually high and panicky as he tried to act casual—not one of his talents.

"Uhh, yeah. Yeah, I just—can you give me a second?"

"Oh, take your time! It's not urgent!"

"Yes it is!" Tuffnut interjected, eavesdropping from across the campsite.

Fishlegs cast him a warning glance and Tuffnut responded with a rude hand gesture; Snotlout and Ruffnut snickered. It used to bother him when his friends would treat him in such a way, but he had come to understand they were just crass, and there was no malice intended.

It only took Hiccup a couple minutes to emerge from his tent, fully clothed with the exception of his riding leathers. He had to have known Fishlegs had seen him and Astrid in the buff, but he acted none the wiser. Fishlegs did not know if it was just Hiccup's polite, imperturbable nature, or if he was just trying to spare him the additional embarrassment. Since the blush in Fishlegs' pale complexion had not yet faded, he figured it was probably the latter option.

"What's the matter?" he asked pleasantly—almost _too_ pleasant.

Fishlegs was having a very hard time looking directly at him.

"We have a situation. There's a—"

"Hiccup! Can we blow up this Marauder ship or not?" Tuffnut interrupted loudly, jerking his thumb in the direction of the longship.

Hiccup furrowed his brow and made his way over to the others. Fishlegs followed him closely, annoyed the male Thortson kept interrupting him. He had very few opportunities to have serious conversations with Hiccup anymore, and he missed the intelligent discussions with an equally brilliant and like-minded peer.

"Marauders?" Hiccup asked.

"Yeah. Just there," Ruffnut replied, pointing out beyond the trees.

Hiccup squinted in the bright morning sunlight and made a thoughtful sound as he considered the enemy longship.

"How long have they been there?" he asked curiously.

"I spotted them about five minutes ago, much further off than they are now" Ruffnut answered. "Wherever they're going, they're in a hurry."

"Did they see you, or—more importantly—your dragon?"

Ruffnut shook her head.

"Right! So let's sink them now, while we still have the element of surprise!" Snotlout exclaimed, thrusting his fist into the air.

"No! Are you crazy?" Hiccup replied. "They have no idea we're even here. They're no threat to us right now—what would be the point?"

"They're Marauders! They used to run with Dagur! Do we need a reason?" Snotlout argued.

"Picking fights and sinking ships just because we don't like them makes us no better than the Berserkers were—I'm not comfortable stooping to that level. Just let them be."

"Well, _you_ may not be comfortable with it, but _I_ have no problem teaching them a lesson," Snotlout said. He snapped his fingers and added, "Let's go, Hookfang."

"Teach them _what_ lesson?" Fishlegs muttered under his breath.

Hookfang lowered his head so Snotlout could climb into his saddle, defiant as ever, and Fishlegs saw a fury in Hiccup's eyes that only seemed to flare up whenever his cousin was involved. Fishlegs could not recall but maybe once or twice when Hiccup had lost his temper, and both instances had been because of Snotlout's repugnant behavior. The last time Hiccup had been legitimately enraged, he had actually _punched_ the other Viking. It was moment that had been both glorious to behold, and equally wonderful to reflect on from time to time. While Fishlegs had been spending much more time around Snotlout over the past year, even he could admit the other young man needed the occasional blow to the head to remind him of the virtue of humility.

"Snotlout! We are not in Hooligan territory! They've done _nothing_ to us—don't engage them!" he demanded.

"They could be going to Bragaoss!" Snotlout protested.

"Bragaoss is two hours in the _other _direction!" Hiccup snapped. "Where they're going, and what they're doing is not our concern at this point."

"Pssht! Screw you! You just don't have the balls!" Snotlout retorted.

He steered Hookfang towards the sea, but Hiccup whistled loudly for Toothless, and the Night Fury came bounding across the campsite, skidding to a halt in front of the Monstrous Nightmare, teeth bared. Hookfang crouched down low to the ground and snarled back at Toothless—and a fight between the two dragons could not end well. The Night Fury and the Monstrous Nightmare were two very proud, strong-willed dragons. If they were to fight, Fishlegs was not sure even Hiccup could break them apart until a clear winner was determined—and Thor only knew the collateral damage that would result.

"Whoa," Tuffnut said, holding up his hands and backing up a couple of paces. "Shit's getting real."

Barf and Belch and Meatlug hastened to their riders' sides to protect them in the event things got dangerous. The juvenile dragons perked up, watching the scene curiously. Some of them had even risen to their feet, prepared to flee if a fight broke out.

"What is your problem?" Snotlout hissed, glaring at his cousin. "It's one fucking Marauder ship! When did you start giving a damn about them?"

"I don't! I give a damn about _them_!" Hiccup retorted, gesturing at Fishlegs and the Twins. "If you go out there, and you sink that ship for no other reason but pure spite, you are responsible for any and all repercussions."

The two Vikings stared each other down and it was as if everything else momentarily froze. Fishlegs was practically holding his breath and the Twins were glancing back and forth between Hiccup and Snotlout, and the Marauder ship out in the distance.

Not that his opinion mattered much for anything in that volatile situation, but Fishlegs sided with Hiccup. As always, his argument was rational and driven more by logic and diplomacy than pure emotion, like Snotlout's. It did not matter that Hiccup was more a figurehead around Berk than the close friend he used to be, there was still a natural air of leadership that surrounded him. On the other hand, Fishlegs felt some loyalty to Snotlout as well, since they had grown much closer in Hiccup's noticeable absence. As impulsive as he could be, Snotlout's intentions were usually in the right place. Unlike Hiccup however, his understanding of the world was much more black and white. There was a Marauder ship? Well, sink it, obviously. That was how you dealt with enemies. Muscles and intimidation were the language of choice in Snotlout's mind, which naturally put him at odds with Hiccup's more thoughtful means of conflict resolution. Add their family history to the mix, and it was an unstable combination.

Oh, yes. Fishlegs was aware of the Haddock-Jorgenson strife. Who was _not_? No one on Berk spoke of it, of course, but silence did not necessarily cause one to forget. The truth was always there, lurking underneath the surface of all of struggles between the two young men.

Reluctantly, Snotlout slid off of his dragon, and Hookfang straightened up, breaking off his snarling match with Toothless. Snotlout strode up to Hiccup, getting directly in his face—which was difficult considering he was now significantly shorter than his cousin, but Hiccup was unconcerned by his posturing.

"You asked me last night, if I really hate you _that_ much," Snotlout hissed. "The answer is 'yes!'"

He stormed past Hiccup, taking care to slam his shoulder into the other Viking. Hiccup whipped around and stared after him, and Fishlegs could not quite place the expression on his face—Anger? Confusion? _Regret_? What for, he did not know. As far as Fishlegs knew, there was no genuine familial love there at all.

"Well, day one of this little trip is turning out to be _quite_ the success, don't you agree, dear sister?" Tuffnut asked Ruffnut sarcastically, in a playfully pompous voice.

"It's going swimmingly, indeed," she replied in a similar fashion.

"Enough!" Hiccup snapped. "Pack up your stuff. We're leaving for Bragaoss as soon as possible!"

The Twins stared at him, bewildered, as he briskly made his way back to his tent, followed by Toothless, who was warbling softly with concern. No matter how frustrated Hiccup usually got with Snotlout, he did not often project his anger elsewhere.

"Well, who pissed in his yaknog?" Tuffnut grumbled, sulking back to his own tent.

Suddenly, a month trip seemed far too long for Fishleg's liking.

He glanced out at the longship sailing towards the horizon. He did not know if it was just the ghost of Dagur the Deranged haunting his memory, but the Skrill emblem on its sail filled him with a sense of foreboding, like a bad omen. Perhaps, he was just being ridiculous—sensitive in the aftermath of the conflict between Snotlout and Hiccup, intense as it had been. After all, what threat could a fragmented band of poorly organized thugs possibly pose to a bunch of dragon riders?

_Yes_. He decided. He was being ridiculous.

000000000

**Author's Note:** I don't know if y'all remember this small detail, but in one of my previous stories, Hiccup mentioned catching a glimpse of Ruffnut and Snotlout making out in the past, which was forever seared into his brain, much to his dismay. The kiss the two of them were arguing about in this chapter is referencing that same moment. Maybe I should write a one-shot of that whole entire situation and how it transpired? Hmm…ehh? I don't know if I care that much, though.

Also, my editor once commented he wanted me to write a sex scene from Hiccup's perspective—_challenge accepted, my good sir!_

Also-also, the TV show and the movie seem to suggest that all the islands surrounding Berk are within a day's flight…but then why would it have taken Hiccup five years to chart them? I just…whatever. Taking some liberties here because their world just seems more logically vast that way—and because, camp scene. Who doesn't love some awkward camping among friends?

Please review! I would greatly appreciate it. :)


	5. Guilt Does Not Atone For Carelessness

**Author's Note: **As you begin this chapter, you may be thinking, "Wait, what? Am I even in the same fic, anymore?" Yes. Yes, you are. Keep reading. I'm doing a flash-forward, flashback kind of deal.

With little less than a month to go, DreamWorks needs to stop releasing clips from the movie, already. Every time they do, I realize just how off my canon is becoming and it makes me just throw my hands up in the air and go "Oh, _whatever_. I don't care anymore!" Not to mention, they just announced they are releasing another series in 2015 that continues to bridge the five year gap between films 1 and 2 and goes into details about many things in the upcoming film, and how they came to be. Including, but not limited to, the evolution of Hiccup and Astrid's relationship…which inevitably discredits absolutely everything I've written, once that comes to pass. So, that being said, I'm just going to keep writing along my little established continuity and just…I don't know…either I will merge my canon and the actual canon as cohesively as I can, or reboot my fan fiction altogether, somewhere down the road.

Maybe.

Possibly.

I just don't know yet.

'Tis the pitfalls of writing fan fiction for an incomplete series, I suppose.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own HTTYD. Sometimes, I really wish that I did.

0000000000

Hiccup stood on the beach of Bragaoss, staring blankly out at the water as Toothless sat in the sand beside him. The dragon was a silent pillar of support, without judgment or reprimand—but Hiccup had plenty of his own to spare. It did not matter what the other dragon riders said, he knew the fault was his. Hehad brought the violence upon them due to his pacifism and reluctance to act when he had the chance.

"I did this," he said aloud, and Toothless made a soft rumble of sympathy.

He glanced down at the blood caked on his right hand. He had not bothered to wash it off yet, as if it was some kind of grim reminder of the consequences of his arrogance. He felt the sharp sting of disappointment and loss. There was even a good deal of guilt to throw into the cacophony of emotion screaming through his brain, because Odin knew he deserved it for his stupidity.

"Human, or dragon?" came a voice—the last one he wanted to hear at that moment.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He then glanced over his shoulder to see Snotlout staring at his bloodied hand, arms folded across his chest with just the appropriate amount of his characteristic smugness to be deeply irritating. Hiccup quickly dropped his hand to his side, not that it erased anything that had happened, or the fact that his palm was still stained with death.

"Have you come over here to gloat?" he asked flatly, lacking even the energy to sound annoyed; it was too much work to muster up any real feelings out of the maelstrom swirling inside of him.

"No. I don't think I need to," Snotlout replied.

Hiccup sighed heavily and glanced out at the sea, sparkling unwittingly in the sunrise, blissfully unaware of the devastation the tide had brought with it during the night.

"It's dragon blood," he said. "Not that it makes much of a difference, I guess. Not at this point, anyway."

Snotlout made a faint noise of agreement in his throat, pacing forward until he was standing beside him.

"Heather is looking for—"

"Where is Astrid?" Hiccup interrupted; he did not much care what the other woman wanted from him. He could not yet bear to face Heather in the wake of the carnage.

"Astrid's fixing up the wounded villagers—the ones that are going to make it, anyway," Snotlout answered. "Heather, on the other hand…she's—"

"I'm going to see Astrid," Hiccup said quickly, turning to march back up the beach—which was difficult given his prosthetic limb; sand was not always accommodating.

"Are you going to keep running away? You'll have to face her, eventually, you know?" Snotlout asked impatiently, hurrying after him.

Hiccup was in no mood for a lecture, especially from his cousin, of all people. What he wanted from Snotlout—what he _needed_—was something that was far too difficult to admit.

"I will talk to her when I can come up with a decent explanation of how and why this happened. Until then, I want to do what I can to help Astrid and the survivors."

"Let me guess…then you're going to come up with some genius plan to make this right, all on your own? Yeah. Don't think that's going to work this time. I think you're in over your head," Snotlout said, reaching out to grip him tightly by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

There was the rare occasion where Snotlout actually made valid points—often times, without realizing it. His odd stroke of genius was usually unintentional, but in that particular instance, even Hiccup could not deny his cousin knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm not planning on doing this alone. Not this time," he said, firmly. "Help me."

"Are you asking me…or _telling_ me?"Snotlout asked, challengingly.

Hiccup spun around and stared straight back into those defiant eyes, which had so often gazed back at him with jealousy and loathing, but in that moment, they were searching—for truth? Acknowledgment? Or for some kind of common ground on which they both could stand? Hiccup supposed it did not really matter. In the end, his answer was still the same.

Dismantling what little remained of his pride, he said, "I'm asking you."

Snotlout raised his eyebrows a little in surprise. It had been a long time since Hiccup had yielded to him on anything.

"If you _ever_, once—in your whole life—cared about me at all…will you, _please_, help me now?"

* * *

Fishlegs and the other dragon riders arrived on Bragaoss shortly after midday, and small welcoming party awaited them. Of the various settlements along the archipelago, only a few of them possessed a chiefdom or any kind of traditional hierarchy structure that Berkians would be accustomed to—most were simply not large enough to warrant such formal social organization; Heather's village was one of those settlements lacking a traditional structure. They had no chief to speak of. There was a village patriarch, however—the eldest and most knowledgeable among them—and he hurried forward to offer his greeting, shaking Hiccup's hand as soon as he dismounted Toothless. Hiccup seemed pleasantly surprised to be welcomed with such enthusiasm.

There were few tribes Berk dealt with on a regular basis outside of the vague and impersonal relationship of maritime trade. Large regional festivals, like Snoggletog and Vetrnaetr, sometimes brought the different Viking villages together—usually on Berk, as the largest settlement in the archipelago that they knew of. It was not commonplace to encounter dragon riders outside of Hooligan territory, and Fishlegs could not imagine how intimidating they appeared, flanked by several dragons. The villagers were staring at them with a sort of nervous excitement, similar to what Fishlegs saw in any new dragon trainer, and he was thankful the juvenile dragons were docile at the moment, exhausted from their long flight. They were making the best first impression they possibly could on a group of Vikings unfamiliar with domesticated dragons.

Astrid slid off of Stormfly's back and boldly took her place beside Hiccup in a gesture that communicated she was his significant other. Fishlegs doubted she did it intentionally. The two of them were often so inseparable on Berk, that it had become second nature for her to assume an unofficial role as Hiccup's spouse and equal—but they were not yet married, or even betrothed, so etiquette dictated she remained behind him as he and the village patriarch exchanged pleasantries. Hiccup did not seem perturbed by her actions, though. Instead, he smiled and placed a hand on the small of her back, introducing her in a manner as if they were wed; it was as unexpected as it was completely unorthodox. Ruffnut cast Fishlegs a sidelong glance, and pointed at the two lovebirds quizzically. He just shrugged in response. The Bragaoss patriarch however, did not seem to notice their blatant disregard for tradition—or he simply assumed the two were, in fact, already married. Hiccup was just shy of twenty, and successor to the chiefdom—Odin only knew he already _should_ have entered wedlock.

Once introductions had been made, they were ushered into the village mead hall, which was a rather modest building compared to Berk's Great Hall, but then again, everything from the villagers' clothing to their homes lacked the same luxuriousness—for lack of a better term—as one saw on Berk. Wooden support beams were missing elaborate carvings and knot-work patterns that decorated the Great Hall. Armor was not part of Bragaossian attire, and many tunics were patched and frayed. It was almost laughable to Fishlegs to think of his home as wealthy, since they had all grown up hearing the tales of Roman opulence, but as he glanced around at his new surroundings, he understood why Trader Johann often referred to Berk as the "crown jewel of the archipelago." Bragaoss' humble accommodations did not bother him, though. If nothing else, Fishlegs felt he had gained a new perspective and greater appreciation for Berk—something he had not previously thought possible.

The rest of the village had turned up at the mead hall to properly welcome them and lay eyes on their dragons. The Great Hall could have fit everyone comfortably with room to spare, but Bragaoss' mead hall felt cramped with the dragons taking up so much valuable space. The villagers did not seem troubled by the sudden invasion of large, winged reptiles—they were far too fascinated by the assortment of well-behaved dragons to worry about the lack of elbow room.

"I have never seen a Gronckle so tame!" one woman exclaimed, petting Meatlug's snout, which earned a contented growl from the dragon.

"She's beautiful!" squealed a young girl.

"Her diet consists of fish _and_ rocks, ye say?" asked an older gentleman as he thoughtfully stroked at his beard.

Fishlegs did not know what to expect from Bragaoss, but he was pleasantly surprised by their warm reception and hospitality. He had assumed there would be some kind of resistance or hesitation regarding the young dragons, since there were very few souls outside of Berk who took kindly to the animals, but he could not have been more wrong. As they were treated to food and drink, Fishlegs was surprised and appreciative to receive so many questions about Meatlug. He could not remember the last time he had so many people genuinely interested in his wealth of Gronckle knowledge. He truly felt in his element, and it was only their first day.

As far as he could tell, his friends were also being interrogated about the finer points of dragon training, and they all seemed equally thrilled to teach about their respective dragons. He heard questions ranging from "Can a Zippleback have just one rider? How would ye control both heads?" to "Does Hookfang ever flare up when ye're ridin' him?" A quick glance at his friend revealed enthusiasm lighting up their faces as they spoke about their respective dragons. It was what the dragon academy had been first established for, and Fishlegs was glad they had the opportunity to reach out beyond Berk, even though his circle of friends had since fragmented.

When there was a lull in the torrent of questions aimed his way from the villagers, he quickly scanned the room. The Twins and Snotlout stood to either side of him, while Hiccup and Astrid were on the opposite end of the mead hall with Toothless and Stormfly. It was a division that was all too familiar to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Heather standing among the crowd closest to Hiccup, Astrid, and their dragons. His heart did a brief series of acrobatics in his chest. He would have thought it impossible for Heather to grow more beautiful in the two years since he had seen her, but many of his assumptions were being proven wrong that day. Okay, so maybe he was_ still_ trying to woo Ruffnut, technically—but if the Thortson girl was so adamant to avoid committed relationships, was he not free to pursue other options if they presented themselves? Particularly Bragaossian women? He liked to think so. He may be rather soft-hearted for a Viking, but he was still a young man, Thor damn it. He had needs like everyone else.

When Heather caught his gaze, she grinned and gave an energetic wave. Fishlegs turned to Tuffnut and Snotlout, and whistled softly to get their attention. When the other two young men glanced at him, he nodded in Heather's direction. Tuffnut and Snotlout broke out into almost identical simpering smiles upon recognizing her, as if they had slipped into some kind of fantastic daze. They wandered over to Fishlegs, momentarily abandoning their dragons within the curious crowd—the dragons did not seem to mind, though. Attention and admiration were in abundance.

"Gods, she's hot," Tuffnut muttered to the other two Vikings under his breath, and they grunted in agreement. "I mean, smokin'!"

"Do you think she's still single?" Snotlout wondered aloud, before taking another drink of ale from the tankard in his hand. "At our age, single women are getting harder to find—all they want to do nowadays is get married and have babies. Then you _know_ it's all downhill after that."

"A man's lucky if his wife ever lifts her skirt for him again after she's popped out a couple of screaming brats. Got to get it when you can, where you can, before you can't get it anymore," Tuffnut said.

"_If _the girls here want anything to do with us at all," Fishlegs replied, frowning as he gazed down at the drink clutched in his own hands.

"We're Hooligans!" Snotlout declared proudly, thumping his chest with his fist. "Dragon riders of the best tribe in the archipelago! If that doesn't make their undergarments hit the floor, I don't know _what _will."

Tuffnut cackled and held up his tankard triumphantly, clinking it with Snotlout's as they shared a smirk.

"If only we were that lucky, but probably not…" Fishlegs said with a sigh.

"You can be a real downer, you know that? We might actually have a chance here. Heather was totally into me during Winter Nights," Tuffnut said, puffing out his chest boastfully.

"What? _Two years ago_?" Fishlegs replied in disbelief.

"Pssht! What reality are you living in, Tuff?" Snoutlout inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

"The one where you shut the fuck up," Tuffnut retorted, shooting them both a dirty look.

Fishlegs and Snotlout both chuckled heartily before turning to survey the mead hall for midnight prospects.

* * *

Astrid carefully navigated her way back through the sea of densely packed Vikings to where Stormfly stood, careful not to step on any toes as she held two tankards of ale above her head, protecting them from the wayward elbow that might spill their contents. She grinned broadly when she spotted Hiccup discussing her Nadder with a couple of burlier men. They clapped gleefully, like children, when Stormfly proudly displayed her spiny tail in a threatening display that Astrid knew to be all for show—her dragon was quite harmless unless she was given a reason to defend herself.

"I didn't know you were suddenly an expert on Deadly Nadders," she teased Hiccup, squeezing past the other two men inspecting her dragon with awe.

"I_ am_ the expert on dragons in general, and Stormfly is, in fact, a dragon last time I checked," he replied.

Astrid smirked and offered him one of the drink in her hand, but he declined.

"No, thank you. I appreciate you were thinking of me, but I'm going to pass," he said.

"But _Hiccup—"_

"No, Astrid. Really, I'm okay."

"We're not on Berk. Who cares if you get a little drunk?"

"I care."

She just rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. Hiccup was wonderful in at least a thousand other ways, but he was a terrible drinking partner.

"It's not like your dad's wall-penetrating gaze of judgment can reach you all the way out here," she said.

Hiccup stared at her, furrowing his brow as he considered her statement for a moment, then he just laughed softly.

"I'm not worried about any 'wall-penetrating' judgment from my dad," he replied, "but I'm representing Berk while we're here. During this little trip of ours, I'm the acting chief in his place."

"Okay, I get that, but even your dad drinks, so…"

She held up the second tankard pointedly, this time passing it right under his nose. Hiccup recoiled, gently pushing her hand away, and they both chuckled.

"Gods! You don't take no for an answer!" he exclaimed.

"How astute of you!" she retorted, playfully.

"Well, try. I'm not drinking that."

"What am I supposed to do with it, then? Drink it myself?"

"I'm confused how that's suddenly a problem for you."

Astrid made an indignant noise, but she only snickered harder as Hiccup tried to stifle his own laughter at her expense.

"Laugh it up, Haddock! I'd punch you if my hands weren't already full."

"I can help you with that ale," came a sweet and familiar voice.

They both turned to see Heather standing there, beaming at them. Hiccup gave Astrid a quick side glance, as if he was asking her permission, and when she responded with the faintest of shrugs, he took a step forward to tightly embrace Heather as an old friend. It did not bother Astrid as much as she thought it would to see her lover hug the other woman, perhaps because Hiccup was mindful to keep it brief. Heather seemed reluctant to let him go however—or maybe Astrid's mind was playing tricks on her?

"I'm so glad you guys are here!" Heather said brightly as she and Hiccup broke apart.

When Hiccup took a step back, Astrid moved closer to him, almost involuntarily. Almost. Heather glanced expectantly at Astrid, but if she was expecting a friendly hug from her as well, the tankards in her hands made it exceedingly awkward. Astrid just held them up with an apologetic smile.

"There are so many dragons here. I was expecting maybe three or four, at the most. You surprise me, Hiccup," Heather told him. "Thank you so much for answering my letter. I wasn't sure you were going to agree to my request."

"I made you a promise," he replied. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to ask for our help. Just how bad have things gotten with the Marauders?"

"Terrible," Heather said bitterly. "It started off with just one ship every now and then—which we were more than capable of dealing with alone. Then they came more frequently, and suddenly one ship turned into two…then three…and so on."

"For what purpose, though?" Astrid asked curiously, offering her the tankard Hiccup refused to drink. Heather accepted it.

"Not sure, really. We thought it was random, like it's always been. After the Berserkers and the Outcasts dissolved, the small groups that remained tried to pillage our island and our neighbors' for survival, I guess. Now…it seems more deliberate. Every attack is more calculated. They're organizing themselves."

"Since the Outcasts and Berserkers disbanded? You've been getting attacked for that long?" Hiccup asked, frowning.

"We could handle it before their numbers grew. One ship was easy. Now, they're attacking in small fleets. It's not as bad as it sounds, though! For the most part, they are looking for something in particular. We apparently don't have it. They took whatever else of value they could find, but as you can see, we're a humble people and we don't have much."

"The _same_ group of Marauders is attacking you?" Astrid asked.

"No. They are different ships each time, but they all are looking for the same thing, I guess. Their raids never last long whenever they realize we don't have what they're looking for—but the violence has to stop. Which is why I wrote to you. We need dragons."

"You should have written me much sooner," Hiccup said. "Had I known—"

"I assumed, when it came to asking for dragons, I would find your help in short supply," she said, with a shrug. "If I recall correctly, you are quite possessive of your dragons…"

She cast Astrid a meaningful look, and they both grinned, knowing very well how they had come to blows over Stormfly.

"Well, it helps that our villages are allies and trade partners. If the Marauders and wild dragons continue to pose a problem, we want you to be able to defend yourselves. We want our trade routes secure."

"Is that the _real_ reason you're here, then? You're just looking out for Berk's best interests?" Heather asked playfully, giving him a small wink.

"Let's just say I wouldn't be here, giving away dragons, if it wasn't going to benefit Berk in some way—no matter how much I like you," Hiccup answered.

Heather replied, "Spoken like a true chief."

"I'm not the chief yet," Hiccup said, grinning sheepishly.

She gave him the sweetest smile and stated, "But you will be, and you're going to be brilliant at it."

"I'm not. You're too…I just—Heather, please," he stammered, looking a little too pleased with himself for Astrid's liking.

That was it. Right there. Astrid did not consider herself a jealous person, usually, but she could not help the indignation rippling through her. It was making it very hard to squash the jealousy down. She did not want to feel that way. Jealousy was such an ugly and toxic emotion. Not to mention, Heather _was_ a friend, and Astrid trusted Hiccup completely…but how could she _not_ make assumptions when Heather was far too complimentary and Hiccup allowed himself to get far too flustered?

"Well, whatever you reasons, I'm glad you're here," Heather said, before taking a small sip of ale from the tankard Astrid had given her. "It's good to see you again."

Heather was addressing Hiccup, specifically, as if Astrid had momentarily evaporated from the room.

"I am happy we could help you," Hiccup replied, placing his hand gently on Astrid's shoulder.

His use of "we" and the simple affectionate gesture helped to calm her bubbling ire. She and Heather could remain on good terms—for the moment. She noticed the other woman's eyes quickly flicker to the hand on her shoulder before returning to Hiccup's face.

"I guess I'd better say hi to the rest of your friends," she said pleasantly. "I've taken up enough of your time."

"Come camp out with us tonight," Hiccup suggested—and Astrid wanted to slap him for it.

As she began to walk away, Heather glanced back over her shoulder and replied, "Careful! I might just take you up on that."

"I can hardly wait," Astrid grumbled as she disappeared into the crowd again.

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow at her and said, "What are you so angry abou—?"

"Really, Hiccup? _Really_?" she retorted, irritably—he could be _so _dense.

He snapped his lips shut and gazed pensively at the floor for a moment.

"Can we talk about this later?" he asked.

Astrid just rolled her eyes and buried her nasty, biting remark into her drink. She was growing weary of Hiccup's tendency to avoid the inevitable, uncomfortable discussion that was dancing just on the horizon—but, eventually, he was going to run out of "later."

* * *

The initial excitement of their arrival had died down and the hour grew late. The crowd in the mead hall had thinned considerably, and the dragon riders decided to call it a night—or rather, Hiccup and Astrid had; Ruffnut and the others had naturally followed. It was not that Ruffnut felt compelled to obey Berk's darling couple on all things, but they were there as a supposedly united force for the benefit of Bragaoss and Viking-dragon relations—they might as well act like they all still liked each other.

The juvenile dragons trudged along beside their fully grown counterparts as they all made their way out of the village towards the silhouette of the tree line standing tall in the distance against the dusky backdrop of rapidly fading daylight. The moon and the stars had already begun to intrude in on the retreating sun. It really was a beautiful evening, but it was soured by the disgusting display of testosterone beside Ruffnut. She narrowed her eyes at Snotlout in the dim twilight, as he had each arm wrapped around a different impressionable young woman. As she listened to him exaggerate his achievements, she did not know which was more revolting—his pitifully obvious attempt at seduction, or the fact the women seemed to be buying it, hanging on his every word. His actions only cheapened every advance he had ever made towards her, confirming what she had suspected all along—she had only ever been a backup plan. The thought made her fists clench.

"If I have to listen to him claim he defeated the Red Death again, I may just lose my mind," Fishlegs muttered to her under his breath as they walked side by side towards their new campsite.

"It will only be a matter of time before he says he lost a foot—" Ruffnut began.

"—and grew it back," Fishlegs finished.

They both snickered under their breath, listening in as Snotlout regaled his future conquests with the inaccurate tale of how he single-handedly saved Berk from Dagur the Deranged and a vicious pack of Whispering Deaths. Ruffnut glanced up ahead at Hiccup, who seemed to be engaged in a deep conversation with Astrid, and blissfully ignorant of his cousin's boasting. The two of them were talking quickly in hushed tones, and while Ruffnut prided herself in her eavesdropping prowess, all she could make out was the word "Marauders."

"What do you think they're talking about?" Fishlegs asked Ruffnut curiously.

"Who knows?" she replied.

"More importantly, who _cares_?" Tuffnut added suddenly, interjecting himself in their conversation.

"Getting tired of Snotlout's epic stories?" Fishlegs asked with amusement.

"Hard to be entertained when they all end the same—'blah blah blah, I'm awesome.' 'Blah blah blah, please do me?'" Tuffnut replied sarcastically.

Ruffnut grinned and elbowed her brother in appreciation of his sense of humor—he punched her shoulder in response.

"Besides, it kind of pisses me off to watch him hitting on my date," Tuffnut said bitterly.

"_Your_ date?" Fishlegs inquired, puzzled.

"Yeah! The redhead. I called dibs and then Snotlout swoops in with his Monstrous Nightmares, getting them to light themselves up, and there went my chances of getting lucky tonight."

"Please! Barf and Belch has two heads—you couldn't think of any impressive moves to make with _that_?" Ruffnut chided.

"I could…but imagine the stroke Hiccup would've had if I set off an explosion in that mead hall. I would _still_ be getting lectured!" Tuffnut replied.

Ruffnut opened her mouth for a witty comeback, but she never could get a word out before she tripped over Toothless' tail—the dragon had stopped abruptly. The Night Fury glared back at her, with an irritated growl, as if it had been her fault entirely. Ruffnut just leered back at him as she picked herself up of the ground, brushing the dirt from her tunic and leggings.

"We'll make camp here," Hiccup announced.

The location was similar to the small clearing they had camped at the night before. They were surrounded by a thick growth of trees on either side, but there was enough empty space to comfortably spread themselves out. Hiccup had his young Monstrous Nightmare set itself aflame to provide a decent light source as they unpacked their belongings from their dragons.

"That's nothing," Ruffnut heard Snotlout mutter to the two women he had brought along. "Watch this."

He had the remaining three young Nightmares light themselves on fire as well, only improving the visibility around camp.

"Thank you, Snotlout. That was actually useful," Hiccup said, and while he sounded genuine, Snotlout just scowled at the compliment.

Ruffnut unburdened her half of Barf and Belch and began setting up her tent alone, trying to ignore Snotlout's bragging, but his voice carried, much to her dismay. She did not know how Hiccup had nearly perfected the art of feigning deafness around his cousin, but she wished she knew his secret. She was having a hard time concentrating on her shelter when she was half-listening to Snotlout's incessant flirting. The resulting giggles from the two young ladies were not helping matters either. She debated casting him a dirty look or a rude hand gesture, but he would have been oblivious to either one.

"It was kind of amusing at first, but now it's just getting annoying," she told Tuffnut, who was setting up his tent only a few feet from her.

"Why is that? I thought you didn't give a damn about Snotlout," he replied.

"I don't!" she said defensively.

"Then why do you care what he says to those girls?"

"Because…"

Ruffnut did not have a solid answer for him. She did not want Snotlout in any sense, but there was something about watching him hit on those other women that was not sitting right with her.

"You're jealous," Tuffnut said simply.

Offended he would suggest something so petty of her, Ruffnut picked a small stone from the ground and bounced it off his helmet with a loud clang.

"I'm not jealous, you idiot!"

"Yes, you are," Tuffnut said smugly, straightening out his helmet again.

"Why would I be jealous of Snotlout wanting those other girls? The thought of being with him makes me sick."

"I think you miss the attention," Tuffnut stated with a shrug. "I would miss it too, if I was suddenly the sought after twin—but I can't say I know what _that_ feels like."

Ruffnut scoffed at Tuffnut's implication. To say she was considered in any kind of higher regard than he was, was laughable to her. They were the Thortson Twins—nearly identical blonde whirlwinds of mayhem and destruction. They were two halves of a whole, and had been inseparable since birth. Who would, honestly, consider one of them without the other? Tuffnut was delusional, she was convinced.

"Sounds like _you're_ jealous of how popular I am," she teased.

Tuffnut stood up, dusting off his hands, and replied, "That's about the size of it."

Ruffnut was taken aback. She had only meant to poke fun at her brother to get him upset. It was one of her favorite pastimes. She had not expected him to actually agree with her.

"That's stupid," she said dismissively. "The only reason I get any attention at all is because I have breasts."

"And because you put out. A lot."

"How is that any of _your_ business?"

"I'm your brother. When you're hooking up with almost every guy on Berk, it kind of is my business."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared," she replied mockingly.

Tuffnut just made an aggravated sound and turned away from her.

"I'm going to help Fishlegs out with his tent. See you, sis."

"What about this mess?" Ruffnut asked impatiently, gesturing towards her own half-erected tent.

"Bye!"

Ruffnut watched him walk away, infuriated. He had some nerve, judging her personal life as if he had the authority to do so. Being twins created an unusual dynamic where they had spent so many years making decisions together, thinking and acting as almost one person, but ever since sex and relationships were involved, some individuality was required—Tuffnut was apparently having a difficult time accepting it. She did not understand how he could be so bothered by her sexual escapades when they were practically attached almost every other hour of the day. She would have thought he would be glad for the occasional privacy as she snuck off with whichever young man to satisfy whatever need she had at the time. Maybe, if he spent more time worrying about his own genitals, instead of hers, he might actually find more productive uses for his time—uses that did not involve bitterly stewing over what Ruffnut may or may not be doing with her own body. Maybe then he would not be so jealous that she, occasionally, decided to live her own life a little?

"Don't you worry," she heard Snotlout say to the two young ladies with him. "There's plenty of me to go around."

She continued to construct the frame of her tent as she fought back the urge to vomit, silently seething.

Men were stupid. Useless _and _stupid. They were far more trouble than they were worth.

* * *

"Go on, bud," Hiccup told Toothless, stroking the dragon's snout affectionately. "I'll still be here when you get back."

Toothless warbled softly before disappearing into the night, unburdened by any camping equipment or belongings as he hurried off in search of his dinner. Hiccup did not want to think of what unsuspecting animal the dragon would come across in the woods. Some things were better left unknown. Meanwhile, Astrid was feeding Stormfly some leftover chicken she had swiped from the mead hall, and Hiccup wondered briefly just how much trouble it had been for a poor village like Bragaoss to prepare such a bountiful welcome feast. He supposed it did not really matter, since it would have been far more insulting for them not to partake of the meal that had been laid out for them.

Astrid had her back turned to him as she tended to her dragon, and he knew she was still upset. Even though they had continued to discuss the Marauders' peculiar behavior towards Bragaoss as they left the mead hall, she had been unusually silent on all other topics of discussion. It gnawed at his heart whenever Astrid was angry with him—especially when he had no clear idea of what he had apparently done to her in the first place. Sometimes, women made no damn sense. Throwing caution to the wind, he approached her from behind, risking physical battery as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Hiccup, we have to talk," Astrid said firmly as she patted Stormfly's scaly neck.

He sighed heavily, her words filling him with a sense of foreboding.

"About Heather?" he asked softly, knowing he could not evade the topic much longer.

"Of course, about Heather!" Astrid replied impatiently, turning to face him.

She made no attempt to repel him, which he took as a good sign, so he stared back at her calmly, resting his hands idly on her hips.

"Don't you think it's a little inappropriate the way she's so…_friendly_ with you, considering her claims she never had any feelings for you? Not to mention, she writes to you, specifically, asking for dragons. Your father is the chief. She should have written to him for a request like this," Astrid said. "That doesn't seem a little bold to you, at all?"

She did have a valid point, but Hiccup knew well that Heather was attracted to him—if that kiss two years ago had been any indication—but people could change. Feelings could change. Perhaps they were both just blowing it out of proportion?

"Maybe she thought she had a better chance at getting what she wanted if she asked me?" he responded with a shrug.

"Why? _Why_ is that?"

Hiccup frowned at her accusatory tone. He knew Astrid could be abrasive in other ways, such as her temper and her highly competitive edge, but jealousy was not an emotion she commonly displayed. He did not know what he and Heather had supposedly done to earn her distrust. As far as he knew, she was still unaware of the kiss Heather had forced on him during Winter Nights—and that was the only possible thing that warranted any jealousy, in his mind.

"You _know_ I have no feelings for Heather. I have told you this, I don't know how many times."

"I know that— but I don't know if she does."

There was some insight in Astrid's statement, but Hiccup was not about to tell her that. It would only lead down the road to confessing to a meaningless kiss that would only serve to make the situation between Heather, Astrid, and himself more unstable. For their mission on Bragaoss to be a success, he _really _needed Astrid to abstain from ripping Heather's head off for the next month. Telling her about the kiss seemed counterproductive to that goal. Jealous, though she may be, Astrid had a friendly enough rapport with Heather, provided the other woman kept her hands to herself. Astrid and Heather seemed to get along well enough if he was not caught in the middle—and he intended to keep it that way.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked wearily. "Would it make you feel better if I admitted to a love affair that never happened? You seem to have assumed as much."

"I don't think that!" Astrid snapped defensively. "Don't put words in my mouth, Hiccup. I don't think you would actually do something that idiotic."

Well,_ that_ was a relief. If only she actually acted like it...

"Good. Because I am many things, Astrid, but stupid isn't one of them. I would _never_—!"

But he was not able to finish his thought to reinforce his unwavering fidelity. Their lover's spat was interrupted by the sound of screams and chaos emanating from the village. Hiccup and Astrid whipped around to see small streams of fire arching high into the night sky before raining down upon the rooftops of Bragaoss like an infernal storm—flaming arrows that assaulted the village from deep in the darkness.

"What in Midgard…?" Astrid mused, automatically reaching for her axe fastened to Stormfly's saddle.

The villagers poured out of their houses, clutching whatever weapons—real and makeshift—they could find. Hiccup saw a shapeless horde stalking toward them in the shadows, faintly illuminated by scattered torches held aloft. Squinting, he could make out the occasional flash of light in the distance as it caught the blade of a sword or axe.

"Marauders!" he gasped.

His friends had emerged from their tents as well, roused by the commotion.

"What's going on?" Fishlegs asked groggily.

Their dragons began to growl, posturing themselves protectively by their riders. Even Hookfang, though generally unruly and disobedient, bared his teeth in the direction of the Marauders as he placed himself between the distant enemy and Snotlout—who had just stumbled out of his tent desperately trying to fasten his pants. His dates looked on curiously, covering their half-naked bodies with their discarded clothes.

"Hiccup?" Tuffnut inquired anxiously, inching closer to Barf and Belch.

His friends were all staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to give the orders that they normally scoffed at.

"Go!" he told them, and that was all they needed.

They mounted their dragons effortlessly, flying off to aid the villagers and fight back the Marauders' onslaught. Even the younger dragons followed their respective trainers, eager to get in on the action.

"Stay here," he said firmly to the two women Snotlout had brought with him to camp.

They nodded and quickly retreated into his cousin's tent as he whistled into the darkness for Toothless. He waited for a moment, but wherever the Night Fury was, he was apparently too preoccupied to hasten to Hiccup's side.

"Let's go!" Astrid urged him, maneuvering Stormfly for an easy mount. "Toothless will catch up!"

Reluctantly, Hiccup climbed up behind Astrid, casting one last worried glance into the tree line before they took off after the other riders. Beneath them, the villagers less adept at combat were quickly fleeing towards the woods while their more able-bodied fighters remained behind to fend off the Marauders. Under the cover of darkness, Hiccup could only make out the other dragons as they flew over a burning rooftop or spewed flames at their enemies. Brilliant, contained explosions up ahead of him cued him into the Twins' location.

"Stormfly, spine shot!" Astrid commanded, and the Nadder flicked her tail at a couple of Marauders that had cornered a young woman; two brief cries of pain, and the men fell limp into the shadows.

The young Nadders followed Stormfly's lead and descended upon a rather large, menacing man, aiding the Bragaossian fighter who had been struggling to fight him off alone. The Marauder swung his sword desperately as the four young dragons pounced on him, wrestling him to the ground. Their ally gazed up at Hiccup and Astrid as they circled back around, giving them a brief nod of acknowledgement before hurrying off between burning houses in search of more intruders.

Hiccup had never experienced a raid before—it was utter chaos. Everywhere he looked, Vikings were engaged in combat. There were too many people to help, and far too many enemies to face. The only ambushes Berk had suffered in his lifetime had been dragon-related. The animals had their attack patterns and his father had been so adept at defending their village, that those nights had seemed more organized in their execution—the dragons stealing their food, and Berk driving them off. Everyone had a role, Vikings and dragons alike. As dangerous as those attacks had been, they were also routine and predictable. The Marauder raid on Bragaoss however, was nothing short of a violent frenzy with no apparent motivation other than to unleash havoc upon a poor, modest village. It was senseless. People were screaming, blades clashed with blades—there was running and there was fighting. All with no purpose.

Hiccup heard the unmistakable twang of bowstrings, and the whistling of arrows sailing through the night sky. He glanced up as a mass of flaming projectiles rained down towards them.

"Astrid!" he exclaimed, but there was no point—Stormfly already dove towards the ground to avoid the hail of fire arrows.

Hiccup expected more of the village to be ignited from the attack, engulfed in a rapidly spreading inferno, but the arrows never hit their mark. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Hookfang hovering in midair, furiously beating his wings to extinguish the flaming arrows and blow them off course with the powerful gust generated by his impressive wingspan.

"That was actually incredible!" Astrid remarked. "Don't you _ever_ tell Snotlout I said that."

Hiccup would not dare—he was already ashamed to admit the very same thing to himself.

"Forget these peasants!" he heard a gruff voice yell. "Attack the dragon riders!"

Suddenly, the tides of the battle had shifted. They had previously been supporting the Bragaossian villagers defending their home, but all at once, the Marauders had turned their attention towards Hiccup and his friends. It was as if the fury of the gods had descended upon them in an instant. Arrows whistled past them, and bolas spun through sky to ensnare their dragons. Marauders were jumping off a rooftop—the ones that were not on fire—to grapple with whatever dragon they could get their hands on. Several of the young dragons crashed into the ground with a Marauder on their back, hogtying their wings in a useless position.

"Get me down there!" Hiccup told Astrid firmly.

"Are you crazy?" she protested.

"Do it!"

Reluctantly, Astrid ushered Stormfly towards the village below, just barely skimming the ground so Hiccup could safely leap from the dragon's back. There was a small band of Marauders waiting for them, axes held above their heads to strike, and a quick spine shot from the Nadder was needed to clear the way for Astrid's and Stormfly's escape into the night sky.

Hiccup quickly ran over to one of the captured young dragons—a Gronckle—squirming against its bonds in frustration. He removed the small dagger concealed in his leather vambrace to sever the ropes that bound the dragon. He had only just cut through one of the thick cords before a blade was at his throat. Slowly, he gazed up into the cold glare of a wild-looking man with unkempt hair and a grizzled beard.

"Ye're a long way from home, dragon rider," the man hissed, pressing the sharp steel against Hiccup's bounding pulse.

Hiccup recognized his accent as former Outcast, and he dared not even swallow for fear blood would be drawn.

"So are you," he replied, reaching for the flame sword attached to his leg. "Outcast Island is—"

"The Outcasts are a mere shadow of what they used te be, thanks te ye dragon-loving Hooligans. We were scattered te the winds when Alvin went soft," the man said.

"Am I supposed to feel bad about that?" Hiccup asked, gripping the hilt of his retractable flame sword tightly in his hand.

The Marauder just sneered and drew back his blade to strike, but Hiccup attacked first, igniting his sword in all its blazing glory. The former Outcast stumbled back with a cry of alarm, which only attracted the attention of his nearby allies who had been regaining their composure after Stormfly's attack, and Hiccup suddenly found his odds less favorable. It was just him and a hogtied Gronckle against four very surly—considerably homicidal—Marauders.

"Not so clever now, are ye?" the former Outcast asked, smugly. "Ye've nowhere te run."

But he was not as outnumbered as his enemies thought. A couple of young Monstrous Nightmares came to his defense, attacking the Marauders in an uncoordinated scuffle of claws, teeth, and flammable skin. Above him, he heard Snotlout's triumphant cheers, coupled with "Suck on that!"

"Fuck these dragons!" one Marauder growled, thrusting a pike into the air as Snotlout and Hookfang made a low, victorious flyby.

"Snotlout! Look out!" Hiccup shouted, but his warning fell on deaf ears.

Hookfang gave an earsplitting roar of agony and a thick stream of blood painted the ground as he and Snotlout disappeared into the shadows again. Out in the darkness, Hiccup could hear the Nightmare's howls of pain fading into the distance.

"There's _one_ down," the man said, grinning wickedly.

The two Marauders that had been struggling against the young Monstrous Nightmares had finally gained the upper hand. They threw the dragons off, kicking them in the snouts before they had the chance to breathe their deadly fire. Bleeding from several bite marks, though they were, the Marauder's insatiable appetite for violence was not deterred. Hiccup saw what was coming, and though he was powerless to intervene, he still lunged forward, free hand outstretched in a pleading gesture.

"NO!" he cried, but it made no difference.

The two men, one with a sword and the other with an axe, beheaded the young dragons with a quick and effective blow from their respective weapons. Hiccup froze—rooted to the spot as he watched the dragons' lifeless bodies fall to the ground beside their severed heads, resting in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. It was not a new sight. Hiccup had seen dragons being slaughtered for fifteen years of his young life, often times in much more grotesque ways. But that night, it was different. He had never lost a dragon since they had become allies—since his entire perspective on them had changed. It hit him hard. The dragons were his life. His purpose. He was responsible for them, on Berk or on Bragaoss. The loss was deeply personal.

"Don't kill 'em all, ye morons!" the former Outcast snapped. "We still need te gift them te Drago!"

"We've capture plenty of dragons for him. What's two less going te matter? We still have the Gronckle."

Hiccup did not know who this Drago person was, nor did he really care—probably some leader of the marauding rabble who would ultimately amount to nothing. What mattered to him in that moment, was protecting the young Gronckle tied up at his feet. He dropped to his knees and made quick work of cutting the dragon loose. In the distance, he could hear explosions which were undoubtedly the Twins, and he could hear Astrid calling out commands to Stormfly. Wherever his friends were in the darkness, and whatever they were doing, he only hoped they were keeping each other safe.

"Stop him!" one of the Marauders commanded. "We need that dragon!"

His enemies rounded on him again, but there came a sudden high-pitched frequency Hiccup knew all too well. He sliced through the last rope that bound the Gronckle and immediately flattened himself on the ground beside the dragon, just as the realization dawned on the Marauders.

"Night Fury!" they exclaimed before a brilliant plasma blast knocked them off their feet.

Hiccup straightened up as Toothless bounded into the village, skidding to a halt in front of him. The dragon snarled at the Marauders hitting them each with a well-aimed plasma blast that left nothing behind but charred remains vaguely reminiscent of human body parts, coupled with the stench of burning hair. Hiccup turned away quickly from the gory reminder of his dragon's lethality.

The young Gronckle took off into the night as he climbed on Toothless' back.

"I'm glad to see you, bud," he said.

Toothless warbled softly in response—a sort of apology for his tardiness.

"Never mind that," Hiccup told him. "We need to help the others."

Toothless stretched out his wings and they were airborne, giving Hiccup a more complete picture of the destruction below. Half the village was on fire, or had already been reduced to smoldering ruins. Bodies lay scattered around, but in the darkness he could not easily distinguish if they were friend or foe—though he suspected it was a combination of both. The Marauders were so great in number that they had begun to overtake the young dragons, subduing them as they had the Gronckle, with more speed and efficiency—and in the chaos and the violence, Hiccup feared he could not save them all.

He felt as if an icy fist was clenching his heart tightly inside his chest. He should have anticipated the raid. He should have been more prepared—should have taken the Marauder threat more seriously. The raid was a result of his carelessness. He knew then there was only one way to deal with the most deplorable cast-offs of Viking society.

The Marauders wanted dragons, and by Thor, he would give them dragons…and all the firepower that came with them.

* * *

As Astrid and Stormfly glided over the burning rooftops, she frantically scanned the village for Hiccup, but she could not find him, nor the captured Gronckle he had gone to rescue. She was starting to feel panicked as the body count increased—though many Marauders had joined the deceased, thanks to the efforts of Bragaossians and dragons, alike,they were still outnumbered and out-armed. Her mounting anxiety was soon assuaged however, when she heard the telltale shriek and the resulting purple blasts that followed. A shadow passing in front of the stars was all she could make out in the vast blackness, but it was enough of a comfort. Hiccup and Toothless had found each other, and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Her lover was safe.

She refocused on the task at hand—protecting the young dragons. The Marauders had seemed to take an interest in them, and Astrid was pushing Stormfly harder than she ever had before, dodging net after net, bola after bola, and the constant barrage of spears and arrows. At first glance, it appeared as though the enemy was retreating, but they had apparently found what they came for, having taken several of the juvenile dragons captive, dragging the netted and bound reptiles towards their longships.

"Fishlegs! We can't let them leave with those dragons!" Astrid called to him, as Meatlug blasted a heavily armored Marauder off a nearby roof.

"But we can't get near their ships! That's the concentrated center of their firepower! They'll take us down too, if we get too close!" he argued.

"We have to try!"

"Count us in!" came a familiar voice from above; it was Tuffnut.

Astrid glanced up to see Barf and Belch hovering overhead—the Twins were unsettlingly stealthy when they wanted to be.

"Great! Where is Snotlout?" Astrid asked, squinting through the darkness for him—Hookfang was usually good for an ambush.

"Haven't seen him," Ruffnut replied. "And Hiccup is—"

"There!" Tuffnut interrupted, pointing to a rapid succession of plasma blasts that took out a tightly packed group of Marauders, attempting to drag a bound and netted Zippleback towards the beach; Toothless disappeared into the night as quickly as he had come, like a deadly shadow.

"Wow! Hiccup is _pissed_!" Ruffnut stated, impressed.

"Yeah! Don't fuck with _his_ dragons!" Tuffnut added, grinning.

"SPEARS!" Fishlegs exclaimed suddenly, and they broke their midair huddle to avoid the lethal projectiles lobbed in their direction.

The longships—five of them—had begun to pull away from the beach with their bound and subdued young dragons crying out pitifully for their help. There were still several Marauders left on Bragaoss as the ships begun their hasty retreat. Such was the nature of criminals, Astrid guessed. It was not a crisis of conscience to abandon one's allies—there was no honor among rapists and thieves.

"It's now or never!" Astrid shouted to the others.

The Twins whooped and hollered while Fishlegs inhaled deeply. Then, they were all racing towards the fleeing longships in a coordinated, last ditch effort to rescue the juvenile dragons. Flaming arrows rained down on them, and it was a testament to how much their skills had evolved that they could guide their dragons safely through it—but their triumph was short-lived. A well-aimed bola wound itself around Meatlug's hind legs and tail, and Fishlegs and his dragon were the first to fall, crashing into the charred frame of what was once a charming family home.

"Fishlegs!" Ruffnut cried—but she did not have long to worry as she and Tuffnut were the next victims.

The closer they flew towards the longships, the steeper their odds became. The Marauders concentrated all their remaining effort on protecting their quarry, and Barf and Belch succumbed to grappling hooks that wrapped around his necks, dragging him down into the dirt. Rufftnut and Tuffnut tumbled out of their saddles, at the mercy of the surrounding band of Marauders, brandishing their weapons menacingly. Astrid was about to turn back for them, but an impeccably timed plasma blast neutralized the threat closing in on the Twins.

"Hiccup!" Astrid exclaimed.

"Cover me!" he shouted as he and Toothless blew past her.

"Wait! _Don't_! It's not worth your life!" she pleaded, urging Stormfly to fly faster, but there was just no matching Toothless' top speed.

The night sky may have been ideal to camouflage a Night Fury, but stealth counted for very little when the enemy knew he was coming. Five simultaneous nets were launched at Toothless along various trajectories, and while the dragon could evade a direct hit, at his breakneck speed precision evasion was difficult. The edge of one net tangled itself around his tail, weighing down the prosthetic fin and jamming the gear-shifting capabilities. With a roar of frustration, Toothless and Hiccup crashed into the shallow waves below—several Marauders on the departing ships cheered victoriously. For Astrid, it was an easy choice between chasing after the longships, or rushing to Hiccup's aid.

Stormfly landed gracefully on the beach, and Astrid pulled her battle axe free from her saddle. Remaining Marauders ran forward, swords drawn, but the Twins had since freed their dragon, and Barf and Belch wasted no time in seeking their revenge. Astrid waded into the water, feeling the heat of the Zippleback's fire on her skin, and the concussive force of the explosion. Stormfly covered her, firing spine shots and jets of flame at anyone who dared to attack her rider. The occasional arrow whistled past her as the Marauders on the longships took aim at her for sport. Astrid had to fight her way through a couple more burly foes left behind, countering their blades with her axe as she intercepted them on their way to Hiccup and Toothless. They swung at her, and she parried, and Stormfly took care of the rest. Astrid tried not to think too hard about the screams behind her as her dragon made sure no one could pursue her.

She found Hiccup standing waist-deep in the churning sea, attempting to cut Toothless loose from the net tightly wound in his prosthetic. He always kept a dagger concealed in his riding leather—Astrid finally had a greater appreciation for it.

"Easy, bud! Easy!" Hiccup said as Toothless thrashed around violently in the waves, attempting to dislodge the net.

Astrid reached out and placed a hand soothingly on Toothless' snout, placating him just long enough for Hiccup to free him. She supposed she should not have been surprised that the two of them were ready to rejoin the fight, almost immediately.

"Let's go, bud," Hiccup said as they quickly emerged from the waves, trudging back up the beach.

His eyes burned fiercely with resolve.

"Hiccup, it's over!" Astrid said firmly, chasing after him.

"It's not—!"

"The ships have gone!"

"If we regroup now, we can still—!"

Astrid dropped her battle axe in the sand, reaching up to gently cup his face in her hands. She forced him to look at her, and behind the determination in eyes, she saw confusion, hurt, and desperation. It was something only she could notice as the one person who truly knew him.

"Hiccup," she said softly, "it's over."

He gave a defeated sigh, as if all the fight suddenly left him, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Astrid's eyes flutter closed, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hoping a simple gesture of tenderness in the wake of so much horror could bring him even the smallest measure of solace—but a feeble dragon's call caught his attention, and he pulled away from her to search for the source of the sound. There, lying a few feet away from them, was a young Zippleback impaled by a Marauder's pike. It cried out in pain as the waves gently lapped at its bleeding wound.

Hiccup strode over to it, falling to his knees beside the injured dragon. Astrid could tell from even the briefest glance that the dragon was not going to make it. Every breath it drew caused the wound the bubble, indicating the pike had punctured its lungs. The dark look on Hiccup's face suggested he came to the same conclusion. For the second time, Astrid saw him withdraw his dagger from his vambrace.

"Do…do you want me to do it?" Astrid asked, not knowing what else she could do or say in that moment—it seemed so wrong, letting Hiccup be the one to end it.

"No. It's okay," he said quietly. "I can do this."

He glanced up as the Twins wandered over to them, followed by Fishlegs, who was cradling his arm to his chest. Meatlug was close behind him, limping terribly. Everyone was staring at Hiccup blankly—defeated in more ways than one. Toothless warbled softly, gazing down at the dying dragon with…pity? Was that an emotion dragons could even feel?

"Did you recognize the sails on one of those longships?" Hiccup asked them suddenly.

Astrid furrowed her brow in confusion, unsure what he was getting at.

"I did," Ruffnut replied flatly. "It was the one…from this morning."

"The one I let go," he said.

A heavy silence settled between them all, and Hiccup glanced down at the injured Zippleback that was gazing up at him, awaiting his mercy.

"I'm sorry…"

Astrid suspected his apology was meant for them as much as it was for the Zippleback.

He placed a trembling hand on one of the dragon's heads and repeated, "I'm sorry."

Then, with a quick thrust of his dagger, the Zippleback gave one last weak cry before it collapsed on the sand, lifeless. Its blood oozed out over Hiccup's hand, staining the sand, and though the waves would eventually wash away the evidence, there was nothing that could ever erase the tragic scene from Astrid's mind.

* * *

Snotlout knelt beside Hookfang, who was lying on his side with his eyes shut tight under the shade of the trees. His mighty wings were outstretched and limp, instead of folded against his body like he normally carried them. His breathing was shallow, and the dragon gave the occasional weak growl as Fishlegs inspected the bleeding gash in his stomach, prodding around the wound gently with his fingertips. He only had one good arm to tend to Hookfang with since, apparently, Fishlegs had gone and gotten his arm broken or dislocated, and now it rested in a sling that Astrid had fashioned for him.

"Well…?" Snotlout asked earnestly. "How bad is it?"

"It looks a lot worse than it is," Fishlegs replied. "The cut is long, but it's not deep—Hookfang should be okay."

Snotlout felt an instant relief wash over him.

"Hear that? Those marauding sons of bitches got nothing on you!" he exclaimed, laying his hand soothingly on Hookfang's neck. "You're tougher than all of them!"

Hookfang opened his eyes and growled appreciatively, making Snotlout grin broadly.

Snotlout would never openly admit it within earshot of others, but he loved his dragon, and he could not imagine the crushing devastation that would overwhelm him if he ever lost Hookfang. He had come close once, due to his own stupidity and arrogance as he pushed Hookfang to the point of total exhaustion. The despair he had felt then, helplessly watching his dragon deteriorate, barely clinging to life, had been almost enough to break him—to bring him to his knees in front of the other dragon riders in a rare act of humility as he pleaded for their help.

Thankfully, it had not come to that. Hiccup and Fishlegs would never sit idly by and let a dragon waste away if it was in their power to do something about it. Fishlegs offered his aid for Hookfang's benefit, regardless of Snotlout's feelings—not that the other Viking did not care about the way he felt. Dragons were just simply the motivation behind most everything Fishlegs did. Hiccup, on the other hand, helped Snotlout to save his dragon's life for Hookfang's sake, _and_ because Snotlout was distraught over his dragon's condition. Despite their often bitter rivalry, his cousin was never reluctant to be of assistance when asked. Snotlout both appreciated and envied Hiccup's selflessness—but to ever tell his cousin that would simply be asking more of him than he was prepared to give.

"Were you here, hiding out with Hookfang during the entire fight?" Fishlegs asked, and his accusatory stare was not lost on Snotlout.

"I thought my dragon was _dying_, okay? What use would we have been with Hookfang like this? Not to mention, I heard it was a clusterfuck with or without my help. Even Hiccup and Toothless couldn't do a damn thing to stop the Marauders!" Snoutlout answered, defensively.

"Can I speak to you for a moment, Snotlout?"

He and Fishlegs turned to see Heather standing there looking morose, which was understandable given what had happened to her village. Snotlout supposed, if he were in her shoes, he would be a little withdrawn and grieving inwardly, as well. Enough of her people had lost their lives that depression may actually have been warranted.

He glanced hesitantly between Heather and Hookfang, reluctant to leave his injured companion.

"Don't worry. I'll look after Hookfang until Astrid can get to him," Fishlegs volunteered.

"You sure?" Snotlout asked.

"Yes. I may not be as skilled as she is in patching up wounds, but I _do_ know dragons, and have some basic knowledge of how to bandage up minor cuts," Fishlegs replied.

Snotlout thought it was a bit inaccurate to describe the laceration as "minor," considering Hookfang's misery, but he was not going to argue if Fishlegs was offering to help his dragon. It was more than Snotlout could do for Hookfang at the moment, and he was frustrated to feel so woefully helpless to ease his dragon's suffering. He was far too proud to ask for help unless he was extremely desperate—there needed to be an imminent threat of death or loss of limb before he allowed himself to show any vulnerability—but if help was willingly extended, he was not too haughty to refuse it. Well, not _all_ of the time, anyway.

"Thanks," he told Fishlegs. Then, he turned to Hookfang and said, "Hang in there. You're a badass, remember? This is nothing!"

Hookfang made a soft noise of agreement that tugged at Snotlout's heartstrings, and he had to quickly turn towards Heather before he got emotional. Such sensitivity was so undignified for a Viking, after all.

"What's up?" he asked Heather, guilt mounting on his conscience with every step he took away from his dragon.

"I was wondering if you have seen Hiccup anywhere. I _really_ need to speak to him, but I have the feeling he's avoiding me," Heather said softly, still exuding a sullen vibe.

Snotlout just scowled at the mention of his cousin's name. He did not understand how Heather could possibly still care what Hiccup had to say about the battle, the Marauders—any of it. It was his fault the ambush had occurred. He had the opportunity to act, and he had done nothing. He had chosen weakness and pacifism—two qualities unsuitable for Berk's next chief. Hiccup was too soft on their enemies, and many had suffered for it.

"Haven't seen him," Snotlout replied, folding his arms across his chest. "He's probably off hiding his face somewhere. Can't say I blame him."

"That's just it," Heather said. "This is _not_ his fault, but I doubt he sees it that way. I need to speak with him—to let him know it's alright. We still need him and—!"

Snotlout interrupted her with an aggravated groan and roll of his eyes. Even when his cousin was at fault, he was _still_ placed up on a pedestal. What would it take for everyone to see Hiccup was undeserving of the abundance of praise he constantly received? Was everyone else blind? Was he, Snotlout, the only sane person left in the world anymore?

"Why don't you ask Astrid? If anyone knows where Hiccup is, she does," he grumbled.

"I did ask her, and she doesn't know. She's been too busy helping our healers tend to the wounded. She hasn't seen him since daybreak, an hour or so ago."

"What makes you think _I_ have any clue where he is, then? Why don't you go look for him yourself?"

"I'm helping take inventory of what _wasn't d_estroyed, so I'm asking you for a favor. Find him for me?" Heather asked earnestly.

Snotlout rolled his eyes, loath to refuse such a humble request when it came from someone so pretty. If Heather was not so good-looking, and if a bunch of her people had not been so viciously slaughtered during the night, he _might_ have been tempted to turn her down.

"Fine. Whatever," he scowled, storming off to search for Hiccup, ignoring the thanks Heather aimed his way.

Given his choice, he would much rather be looking after Hookfang. Though he was unskilled in anything pertaining to dressing wounds and healing injuries, moral support was just as vital in his book.

As he searched what remained of Bragaoss, he passed by the mead hall, which now served as refuge for the wounded. He felt his throat go dry when he saw just how many injured villagers were sprawled out of the ground, in various states of acuity. Women were tending to them as best they could, Astrid included, but the staggering amount of painful groaning and whimpering was chilling. He noticed Astrid pass by a man with a sucking chest wound without giving him a second glance, focusing her attention instead on a woman with a deep gash in her forehead. It was then he realized that some survivors were beyond help, made comfortable enough to die peacefully. It was a morbid thought that quickened his pace as he eagerly fled from the haunting atmosphere of death that had settled over the once festive mead hall.

Snotlout hurried for the beach, hoping the horrible aftermath of their battle would not follow him to the serene Bragaossian shore. He had not expected his flight from the gore would actually lead him to Hiccup—admittedly, the last person he wanted to see even though he had agreed to track his cousin down.

Hiccup was standing beside Toothless, staring out into the distance, deep in thought. It often bothered Snotlout when Hiccup would do that—would think so hard in his presence. It only served to remind Snotlout of his cousin's superior intellect, since he did not find the same enjoyment in contemplation and introspection as Hiccup did.

As Snotlout reluctantly approached him, Hiccup gazed down at his hand, and it was then Snotlout noticed the blood. Apparently, Hiccup had seen some action during the Marauder raid. Had he killed somebody? Well, maybe with Toothless, but that hardly counted when the dragon did the dirty work.

"Human or dragon?" he asked.

He heard Hiccup take a deep, steadying breath as he so often did before forcing cordiality into their conversations. It greatly amused Snotlout how easily he could get under his cousin's skin. Hiccup was not as patient and kindhearted as everyone seemed to think he was—at least not to _him_, anyway. Hiccup glanced over his shoulder with an irritated look on his face, and quickly dropped his hand to his side.

"Have you come over here to gloat?" he asked flatly—always so accusing when they addressed each other.

"No. I don't think I need to," Snotlout replied, frowning.

Hiccup sighed heavily and glanced out at the sea, lost in thought again.

"It's dragon blood," he said after a moment's pause. "Not that it makes much of a difference, I guess. Not at this point, anyway."

Snotlout made a faint noise of agreement in his throat, pacing forward until he was standing beside his cousin. There were about a million things he could say—several different ways to rub Hiccup's failure back in his face, if he wanted to. In that moment though, after what he had seen up at the mead hall, making light of the situation hardly seemed appropriate. Besides, there was no enjoyment in giving his cousin a hard time if he was already going to be so defeated.

"Heather is looking for—"

"Where is Astrid?" Hiccup interrupted.

"Astrid's fixing up the wounded villagers—the ones that are going to make it, anyway," Snotlout answered. "Heather, on the other hand…she's—"

"I'm going to see Astrid," Hiccup said quickly, turning to march back up the beach; Snotlout found his abruptness to be rude and uncalled for, and so he took secret pleasure in watching his cousin struggle with his prosthetic limb in the sand.

"Are you going to keep running away? You'll have to face her, eventually, you know?" Snotlout asked impatiently, hurrying after him.

Hiccup was stubbornly silent, continuing his quick pace as Toothless followed them obediently—did the dragon not have a will of his own?

"I will talk to her when I can come up with a decent explanation of how and why this happened. Until then, I want to do what I can to help Astrid and the survivors."

Snotlout could not hazard a guess as to what Hiccup hoped _that_ would accomplish.

"Let me guess…then you're going to come up with some genius plan to make this right, all on your own? Yeah. Don't think that's going to work this time. I think you're in over your head," Snotlout said, reaching out to grip him tightly by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

Hiccup did not often listen to him, and so Snotlout did not readily offer his advice—but he had been right about the Marauders the day before. They both knew it, and it had to be eating at Hiccup to be so devastatingly wrong.

"I'm not planning on doing this alone. Not this time," Hiccup said, firmly. "Help me."

Snotlout was taken aback. He did not know what to say. Hiccup asking _him_ for help was about as typical as a dragon that liked eels—Typhoomerangs aside.

"Are you asking me…or _telling_ me?"Snotlout asked, challengingly.

Hiccup spun around and stared straight back at him with a determined fire in his eyes. His cousin, who so often looked down on him—or so Snotlout was convinced—was unshakable when he had made up his mind about something, consequences be damned. No matter how much Snotlout wanted the chiefdom, or all the ways he knew he was more deserving, when Hiccup was confident and resolute, even Snotlout could not deny the commanding presence he exuded.

Without faltering, Hiccup said, "I'm asking you."

Snotlout raised his eyebrows a little in surprise. It had been a long time since Hiccup had yielded to him on anything.

"If you _ever_, once—in your whole life—cared about me at all…will you, _please_, help me now?"

000000000

**Author's Note:** Oh em gee. This took me so long to update. I am so sorry, y'all! I had a whole lot of life on my plate the past couple of weeks. I only really got to squeeze in two solid afternoons of writing to crank this long chapter out! I hope I made it worth the wait! Things have calmed down for me, so the next chapters should be posted more frequently than this one was—unforeseen circumstances aside.

…Man, this chapter was long. Sorry about that. I'm sure you have better things to do than read my fan fiction all day.

Please review! It touches my feels.


	6. While The Smoke Clears

**Author's Note: **Awww, you guys! I'm feeling so much love from y'all. The general consensus is "No! Don't change your continuity! To Hell with canon, raaaawr!" That was paraphrased, of course. Y'all stated it much more eloquently than that. I added that last part for effect. To know I have created a storyline that so many people enjoy, I suppose I'd be a huge jerk to just dust my hands of it and disregard it when the film comes out in a few days. So, no. I guess y'all have helped me make up my mind. I'm sticking with this continuity and if I deviate here and there, well to Hell with it. Overall, things are on the same trajectory as the canon where it counts. For anyone who would get a Bioshock Infinite reference, this is just another parallel HTTYD reality I suppose, and I'm like Elizabeth opening up those tears in the space-time continuum. For those of you who don't get that reference, I apologize for geeking out all over you. Just roll with it. That was for my darling editor.

You're welcome, sir.

*******EDIT: **Okay, so I owe y'all a big apology. I was _trying_ to consolidate my two shorter beginning chapters to...I don't know...satisfy my need to better organize the structure of this fic, I guess? Well, after I did that, of course it was like "Oh! updated chapter 6!"and then the showed I only had 5 chapters, which was more than a little confusing, I'm sure. Sorry about that. Then, from what I understand, anyone who reviewed the previous chapter 5 couldn't leave another review on the new chapter 5 so...yeah. I didn't realize it was going to do that. What a clusterfuck. Ultimately, I have restored the fic to its original format...because, geez. To reiterate, no content has been deleted or changed...just shuffled around.

_I'm done shuffling now!_

Just going to throw my hands up and back away from my computer slowly.*********

**Disclaimer: **I don't own nuttin'!

0000000000

"Let me get this straight," Snotlout said, taking quick steps to keep up with his cousin's long strides—damn Hiccup's unexpected blessings of puberty. "You admit you were wrong about the Marauders? About everything?"

"Yes. That much is obvious, isn't it?" Hiccup answered, heading towards the mead hall; he made a brief stop at a well to wash the dragon blood from his hand, drawing the bucket up from its depths.

Snotlout was reluctant to follow him back to the mead hall—to a place of so much suffering and death, but if he and his cousin were going to collaborate on some brilliant scheme to pay the Marauders back for their ambush, he would not let Hiccup stray too far. He did not want to be inconvenienced to look for him again.

"And you could not do shit on your own to stop them from taking those dragons?" Snotlout asked as Hiccup poured water over his soiled hand, doing his best to scrub it clean with the other.

"It there actually a pertinent question somewhere in this interrogation?" he retorted flatly.

"_Yes_," Snotlout replied impatiently. "Why, now, do you want my help? You've never cared about my opinion before."

Hiccup made an aggravated noise as he returned the bucket to the well, hand now free from any stain of violence. As he turned to face him, Snotlout realized just how exhausted the other Viking looked. His was slightly disheveled with dark circles under his eyes, and Snotlout felt the tiniest bit sorry for him, but it was fleeting. He could only feel sympathy where it was justified, and Hiccup had brought his misery upon himself—he would offer no sympathy for that.

"That's not true, Snotlout, and you know it," Hiccup said wearily. "I always cared about your opinions—provided they actually made some kind of sense."

"I _always_ make sense!" Snotlout replied defensively.

Hiccup just quirked an eyebrow and stared back at him sardonically. It was an expression he frequently wore whenever they spoke, and it always managed to make Snotlout's blood boil.

"Don't look at me like that!" he demanded with a scowl. "It's not my fault you fail to appreciate my genius."

Hiccup sighed heavily, slapping a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

"Sure. I suppose genius is all relative to how low one's standards of intelligence happen to be…"

"Exactly!" Snotlout said, folding his arms across his chest.

"_Exactly_," Hiccup said with a wry grin that made Snotlout uneasy, like he was missing the joke—his cousin often made him feel that way.

"You never answered my question," Snotlout stated, quickly changing the subject before Hiccup had another opportunity to exercise his irritatingly dry and sarcastic wit. "Why do you want _my _help?"

"Different adversaries require different strategies, right?"

"I guess…" Snotlout replied, hesitantly following his logic.

"I _know_ dragons. I understand them. That's why the Red Death was no problem for me and—"

"Well, it was _kind of_ a problem," Snotlout interjected, nodding pointedly at his cousin's metal limb; Hiccup ignored his jest.

"—as far as Dagur and Alvin were concerned, well…they weren't particularly bright. Outsmarting them was easy, and I have years of growing up with you to thank for that."

"You're welco—Hey! You ass—!"

"These Marauders are different. At first, it just seemed like some kind of random, chaotic raid, but Heather was right. They're organized and their attacks are calculated—almost as if they were anticipating…" Hiccup trailed off, brow furrowed, suddenly consumed by a deep thought.

Snotlout did not have the patience for it.

"The _point_, Hiccup?"

Hiccup snapped back from his thoughts and replied, "The point is, I don't think a clever or diplomatic solution can be found in this case—and they aren't some dragon acting on a predictable set of instinctual behavior I can study. What we need is a more aggressive approach to deal with the Marauders."

"Like good ol' fashioned, straightforward combat—only with dragons?" Snotlout replied—he suddenly liked where the conversation was going.

"Yes. That is the idea. If I recall correctly, good ol' fashioned, straightforward combat is your forte—and Astrid's."

"Damn right! You're talking about going on the offensive. Hitting them hard and fast where it hurts?"

"Yes. Something like that."

"No tricks. No soft-handed tactics or Hiccup-flair?"

"I will try to keep it to a minimum, at best."

"You're serious?"

"Yes. That's why I need your help. I am out of my element here," he confessed. "I think, this time, you understand our enemy much better than I do. You recognized the threat they posed much sooner than I did. You took them seriously whereas I turned a blind eye."

If he was referring to the day before, Snotlout harbored deep prejudice and animosity towards the former Outcasts and Berserkers for their years of hostility towards Berk. All he really wanted to accomplish that morning was to sink an enemy ship in an act of pure spite. Hiccup had called him on it before, but for whatever reason—perhaps guilt—he was retracting his judgment then, and Snotlout was not about to correct him on it. He just stared incredulously at his cousin, hardly daring to believe Hiccup, of all people, was condoning his penchant for violence. He must really have felt backed into a corner to defer to his and Astrid's "stab first, ask questions later" strategy. How…_Viking_ of him.

"So, how about it, Snotlout? Will you help me?" Hiccup asked, yet again, with all the same sobriety as before.

"Cuz…" he began, placing his hand bracingly on Hiccup's shoulder, "There's nothing I would love more than helping you kick some Marauder ass. I owe it to Hookfang."

Hiccup smiled appreciatively and Snotlout could not help but grin broadly in return. There were maybe only a handful of times in the past five years that he and Hiccup ever genuinely saw eye-to-eye on anything. In those rare moments that they did agree, Snotlout found it in himself to, however briefly, admit they were actually related. In those odd moments, when he and Hiccup could set aside their differences and reach an understanding, they were a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

Astrid was relieved when Hiccup had sought her out in the mead hall, even if quality time with Snotlout was an unexpected side effect of his company. She had been running around all morning, frazzled and sweaty, tending to the wounded and the dying to an extent that tested even her emotional fortitude. She had never been responsible for deciding who lived and who died. True, she was trained in combat—perfectly capable of hacking her enemies to pieces with her battle axe—but those circumstances were different. War was different. One killed because it was a matter of duty or self-defense—a "get the other guy before he gets you" mentality. Even so, she had never actually been in the position to kill someone before. She did not have that grim notch in her Viking belt, and she suspected very few Hooligans had the chance to earn that honor, since Berk was practically untouchable in recent years. It was not that she desired to take a life, but she was confident she could—for her own protection, for her dragon, for her village…for Hiccup. But that would be an easy decision that did not require a lot of thought behind it.

Her work at the mead hall, however, required a very morbid skill—to look at two people and decide which one received her care, and which one was simply beyond help, and not worth the limited time and resources that had to be spread among the injured. It was a horrid responsibility, and she did not wish it upon anyone. Yet she had already made that decision several times over, and felt a little piece of herself break every time she held a hand of a dying man, gazing down into pleading eyes with the knowledge there was nothing more she could possibly do. Helplessness was just not strong enough to describe the ache in her soul.

She almost threw herself into Hiccup's arms when he softly spoke her name, calling her back from the desolate wasteland of numbness she wandered through to keep the more painful emotions at bay. She whipped around, wanting to run to him and bury her face in his neck, seeking refuge in all the love and kindness that was Hiccup—the complete antithesis to what the Marauders represented—but she was Astrid Hofferson. With what last bit of sanity that remained within her, she held her composure and calmly strode over to him, instead. They embraced tightly and shared a brief kiss—anything more in the presence of so much suffering would have been woefully inappropriate.

"If you are busy, I can come back," he told her, eyes scanning the room sadly. "Your work here is more important than anything I have to say…"

"We have stabilized and treated who we could. The emergency is over now. I will ask the head matron, but I think they can stand to lose me for a little while," she replied.

Hiccup nodded and reluctantly released her. As she stepped back from him, she noticed just how tired he looked—it as was if he was physically reflecting the mental and emotional exhaustion she felt. Her heart hurt for him.

"This isn't your fault," she told him, reaching up to gently caress his face in her hands. "You _do_ know that?"

"Always so supportive," he murmured, leaning into her touch—but he did not sound convinced of his guiltlessness.

"Hiccup, the Marauders did this. _They_ killed these people. _They_ killed those dragons. You did everything you could possibly—"

"Well, not _everything_," Snotlout muttered under his breath, speaking up for the first time.

For a couple glorious minutes, Astrid had forgotten he was even standing there, having barely acknowledged him behind his cousin. At first, Snotlout's comment ignited a small spark of irritation in her, but the look of remorse that passed over Hiccup's face at his words fanned the flames of minor annoyance into a raging inferno.

"Listen, you slimy son of a Gronckle-fucking—!"

"Don't," Hiccup said, gripping her arms gently to keep her from advancing on the other man. "He has a point."

Astrid stared incredulously at him, certain for a brief moment that she had misheard.

"You can_not_ be serious—Hiccup! There was no way to anticipate _this—_not on this scale," she argued, gesturing to the wounded villagers sprawled out around the mead hall.

"No, but I didn't take the Marauder threat seriously, either. I thought, since they posed no threat to Berk, than why should it be any different here? I didn't think they would be so organized and so bold to attack us when we had dragons. I was overconfident and careless. I should have been prepared for some kind of attack," Hiccup replied. "Instead, I ignored the problem because it was easy. It was non-confrontational. If I had acted yesterday, how many more people would be alive today?"

Snotlout's smug nods did very little to quell Astrid's anger with him.

"You expect too much of yourself," she told Hiccup, frowning.

"Do you think it's any different than what they expect?" Hiccup asked, jerking his thumb towards the exit, indicating the entire village of Bragaoss. "Or what Berk will expect of me?...Or my father?"

Astrid gave an exasperated sigh. For Hiccup, everything came back to the chiefdom and his father's criticism and ridiculously high expectations. She did not agree that the Marauder ambush was his fault to begin with, but all of that aside, Hiccup did not allow himself the luxury of making mistakes. He was always so hard on himself in the rare occasion that he failed at something—quite the departure from the long history of embarrassment he had suffered as a child. He was human and fallible and allowed to be wrong, but he was always going to be that awkward boy striving for his father's approval and affection in everything he did—it did not matter that he already had Stoick's love. Hiccup could not stop chasing the ghosts of his regret.

"What do you propose we do about this mess, then?" Astrid asked impatiently, hands on her hips.

"I propose nothing but a collaboration between you, me, and Snotlout."

Astrid fought back the urge to laugh—given her surroundings, it would have been in poor taste. Instead, she pressed a hand against Hiccup's forehead.

"Well, you're not feverish…there's a surprise," she said mockingly.

"Hey! I actually have good ideas," Snotlout snapped defensively.

"No, you don't," she replied.

"_Sometimes_ he has good ideas," Hiccup corrected.

"No! He does not!"

"Astrid. Please," Hiccup said wearily. "This is neither the time nor the place to get into it. The fact of the matter is I've already asked Snotlout for his help, and I could really use yours, too. Please, help me out here."

Astrid folded her arms across her chest sourly. She was more than eager to help her boyfriend, but firmly opposed the idea of compromising with Snotlout on anything. Her love for Hiccup was waging war against her disdain for Snotlout and just about every syllable that ever came out of his loud mouth. Predictably, in spite of her misgivings, her affection for Hiccup was stronger than her pride, and the thought of cooperating with his cousin was not nearly as painful as the thought of disappointing him.

Damn. Sometimes love could really put one at a disadvantage.

"Of course, I'll help you," she told Hiccup with a roll of her eyes.

He gave her one of his warm smiles that he seemed to reserve just for her, and for that brief moment, Astrid saw the fatigue evaporate from his features. Hiccup smiling at her was truly a beautiful thing—but he did not need to know that. It was simply too sentimental to say.

"Thanks, Astrid," he said with such genuine gratitude that she could have blushed. "Meet us back at camp as soon as you can."

She nodded, and satisfied, the two young men turned to leave, walking out between the two long rows of wounded villagers. Hiccup kept staring straight ahead while Snotlout cast a wary glance at a man coughing harshly. With a loud hack, the man spat up blood, and Snotlout took a quick sidestep closer to his cousin in revulsion before they disappeared into the blinding summer sunlight. She sighed heavily once they had gone, admiring Hiccup's optimism but doubting the likelihood of a smooth meeting of the minds. Odin was going to have to grant her unnatural patience in the days that followed, or she and Snotlout might kill each other before they ever laid their hands on any Marauders.

* * *

Fishlegs quickly turned away as yet another dead body was carried by him. He could tell from the armor that it was a Marauder, and though he was thankful one less murderer was terrorizing innocent people, he had never had much of a tolerance for blood and death. Some Viking _he_ made—and to think he actually wanted to make a living gutting dragons only a few short years ago… How foolish he had been back then to think he even had the stomach for it. He was not like the rest of his friends. Even gentle, mild-mannered Hiccup, who had been about as likely to slay dragons at fourteen as Fishlegs had been, could somehow stand the sight and stench of gore and festering wounds in a way he never could. That was how Hiccup could spend a prolonged amount of time with Astrid up at the mead hall in the midst of all the suffering cries the injured. Snotlout was with them as well, though he looked considerably more unsettled than the other two, and it had been an unusual sight for the three of them to be standing together in serious discussion, giving no indication that Astrid was on the verge of throttling Snotlout—also bizarre. Fishlegs had only seen them through the door in passing, as he hurried back to Hookfang carrying a bucket of cod under his good arm. He wanted to join them, whatever it was they were talking about, but even from several yards away he caught the smell of death on the air, which was more than enough to change his mind.

He was much more content to sit in the shade beside Hookfang and determinedly ignore the occasional corpse that was carried past him to some unknown location where they would undoubtedly remain until the construction of the pyres were complete—he suspected the Marauders' bodies would find rest in a mass grave away from the village, deprived of any kind of proper funeral rites.

Hookfang growled softly, raising his head off the ground for the first time in a few hours. He stared at Fishlegs calmly, his yellow eyes more full of life than they had been in a while.

"Glad to see you're coming around," Fishlegs said, scratching the Nightmare's chin with his free hand—the one not immobilized in a sling.

Hookfang made a noise of agreement and Fishlegs grinned. It was bad enough they lost any of the young dragons they had brought with them, but had one of their personal dragons died—well, he simply shuddered to think of it. He could vividly recall Hiccup's expression of anguish as he had put one of their wounded Zipplebacks out of its misery. Thank all the gods he could think of that it had not been Toothless…

His reverie was interrupted by a heavy set of footsteps, and he took his eyes away from Hookfang to stare up into the nearly identical faces of Barf and Belch; the Twins were not far behind.

"I'm exhausted!" Tuffnut exclaimed, collapsing on a patch of grass beside him. "Everything hurts."

"We've been helping build funeral pyres all morning," Ruffnut said, "and that was before we started rebuilding houses, too."

"Wow. You two can actually _construct_ things?" Fishlegs asked teasingly as Ruffnut joined the two men on the grass.

"It was a most unnatural feeling," Tuffnut replied, lying down on his back, limbs outstretched.

"Thankfully we have a two-headed dragon to do a lot of heavy lifting for us," Ruffnut stated, nodding towards her Zippleback.

"I bet the villagers appreciated that," Fishlegs replied.

"Maybe," Ruffnut said with a shrug, "but I bet they would appreciate it more if we hadn't lost a bunch of their dragons."

Fishlegs frowned and asked, "How many do we actually have, now?"

"Six," she replied dully. "Two Nadders, one Zippleback, and three Gronckles. They killed two of the Nightmares, and then there was the Zippleback that Hiccup, well…y'know."

"Cleaning up the village today, they found a dead Nadder," Tuffnut added darkly. "That means the Marauders took the other six dragons, I guess."

They sat in a heavy silence for a moment, and Fishlegs studied Ruffnut out of the corner of his eye. She was not the kind of girl that could be described as tender or sympathetic on most occasions—even someone as stubborn and short-tempered as Astrid was considered more soft and feminine by comparison—but in that moment, discussing the tragic fate of their dragons, Ruffnut appeared genuinely upset. Fishlegs reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but when she suddenly glanced up at him, he balked and pretended to scratch at his chin stubble instead; she just smirked at his awkward gesture.

That was more or less the nature of his entire relationship with her—or lack thereof. He wanted her, and so he pursued every opportunity, but his advances never seemed welcomed or appreciated. If nothing else, for all his effort, he was rewarded with either her pity, or amusement. It was not like Snotlout, had any more success than he did with Ruffnut, but he enjoyed the privilege of actually being taken seriously when he tried to win her over.

"How's your arm?" she asked suddenly, catching Fishlegs off guard.

"I, uh…well i-it hurts," he stammered, momentarily taken aback by her concern.

"Well, no shit! Is it broken, I mean?" she clarified.

"Yes. That seems to be the consensus up at the mead hall," Fishlegs answered.

"That's going to make flying harder," Tuffnut said, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I'll manage. Thankfully, Meatlug is a gentle and steady flyer," Fishlegs replied proudly.

Ruffnut scoffed and said, "Everything is safe and predictable with you. Maybe you could use a little more excitement?"

"How do you think I got this?" Fishlegs asked sarcastically, nodding at his sling. "I think I've had enough excitement for now, thanks."

Ruffnut shook her head and gazed up at the trees gently swaying overhead in the breeze.

"…Not the excitement I'm talking about," she muttered under her breath.

Fishlegs perked up considerably. It sounded for a moment like she was implying...but, no. It could not have been that simple. After all, Ruffnut had been rebuffing him for years, and not just in a romantic sense. She had mocked his intelligence, his enthusiasm for knowledge she deemed boring, and every stab at a genuine friendship before the academy had ended with indifference. She had never hated him—not in the same way the other had detested Hiccup for so long—but they were just so fundamentally different. He had dared to hope they could compliment each another in the same way that Hiccup and Astrid were so opposite, yet fit together like two halves of a whole. Seeing them work so effortlessly had made Fishlegs optimistic about his own chances with a girl like Ruffnut—someone to bring him out of himself, urge him to take risks, and pursue something other than insight into dragon behavior. He was attracted to her for being everything he was not, and still she spurned him when he tried to tell her as much, or make her feel that she was not _just_ the last eligible female in their age bracket. At least, not in his eyes.

He wanted a confidant other than Meatlug. His dragon always listened faithfully, but left much to be desired in terms of helpful advice—but where was a young Viking man to go? Not to mention, sharing personal matters of the heart was improper, and though he trusted his friends implicitly when it counted, Tuffnut and Snotlout were not the most sentimental shoulders to lean on. The male Thorston frowned upon all efforts to court his sister while Snotlout usually turned anyone's feelings back on them for his own personal amusement. Fishlegs would do much better trying to unload his burdened heart on a Scauldron.

Of course, there _was_ always Hiccup. He had been the one person that did not balk at others' vulnerabilities, or use secret confessions for personal gain. More than anyone else, he would understand the pain of unrequited love and longing—but they had not had a serious conversation about personal matters in _years_. He had become withdrawn when Astrid had been engaged, and then completely lost in her when she had finally given herself to him. Add his relationship with Toothless and the responsibilities as heir to the Hooligan tribe in the mix, and there was very little time and attention he had left to spare for anyone or anything else. Besides, in light of recent circumstances, Hiccup had more pressing things on his mind than Fishlegs' lonely soul.

He sighed heavily, picking at the blades grass with his free hand. He glanced over at Tuffnut, who was idly petting each of Barf and Belch's heads as the dragon practically purred in contentment. Though Tuffnut was one of the last people to ever speak of any deep emotions aloud, his silence and state of calm reflection spoke volumes of its own. Ruffnut, too, was uncharacteristically serene as she absentmindedly stroked one of her heavy braids, searching it for flyaway strands and imperfections that FIshlegs knew were not there—he had spent so much time admiring her from afar. He wondered vaguely if that was an odd or improper thing to do. He supposed it was, but his heart was weak for her.

"Are you going to the funeral tonight?" Tuffnut asked suddenly, sitting up.

"We probably should. It's only the right thing to do, isn't it?" Fishlegs replied.

Ruffnut hugged her knees to her chest and said, "I hate funerals. Everyone standing around, crying…how lame and depressing."

"At least there will be fire," Tuffnut told her, nonchalantly. "That makes it worth it, I guess."

Fishlegs was glad no Bragaossians were within earshot of the twins. It had taken him two decades to learn to decipher their insensitive comments and reach their intended meaning. The villagers would not likely be so understanding.

"I don't think they'll expect us to be there long," Fishlegs said. "They probably expect us to be off chasing Marauders."

"Now, there's an idea!" Tuffnut exclaimed. "Why are we all just sitting here? They have our dragons, for Thor's sake! I would have thought Hiccup would have gone after them immediately after he cut Toothless loose."

"They could have _killed_ us," Fishlegs protested. "They almost killed Hookfang!"

The Monstrous Nightmare growled appreciatively behind them, pleased to be remembered, and the Twins were startled, having forgotten he was even there.

"Hiccup has to have a plan at least, right?" Ruffnut asked. "_Right_?"

"Sure. He always has a plan," Tuffnut replied.

"Well, you can ask him that yourself," Fishlegs said, nodding up ahead of them.

The Twins glanced up in unison as Hiccup and Snotlout came towards them, followed by Toothless. They looked relieved to see the Chief's son, which Fishlegs thought was a bit hypocritical of them. They loved to join Snotlout in mocking Hiccup behind his back—though, they really had to stretch for any legitimate reasons to tease him in recent years—but they would practically trip over themselves if he gave them any orders in an emergent situation. He supposed it was just more of the same—Hiccup was their leader, not their friend. Not anymore. Only Astrid and Toothless had the privilege of being close to him.

"Yo!" Tuffnut said brightly, with a casual wave of his hand. "It's about time we bumped into you guys again.

Hiccup and Snotlout just gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before Snotlout hurried forward to greet his dragon.

"How's it going, big guy?" he asked fondly, gently tapping his fist against Hookfang's snout.

The Monstrous Nightmare growled softly and brushed a wing over his rider's head to playfully mess up his hair and helmet. Snotlout just chuckled and straightened it all back out again.

"Ass," he muttered teasingly, and even Hookfang seemed to laugh.

"Where have you two been?" Ruffnut asked, interrupting one of the rare moments of tenderness Snotlout ever seemed to display.

"We've been talking to Astrid and the village patriarch. We all have some important decisions to—" Hiccup began, but Ruffnut cut him off.

"Oh! I almost forgot. We spoke to Heather and she wants you to—"

Hiccup interjected quickly, "We should all head back to camp. We can talk there."

He and Snotlout took off again, heading for the small collection of tents in the distance, with Toothless loyally shadowing his rider. The Night Fury looked fiercely attentive, keeping close to Hiccup for his protection, rather than out of obedience. Fishlegs figured, even if the Marauders attacked again on some kind of whim, Hiccup and Astrid were the two safest people on the entire island with Toothless devoted to their well-being, and for a moment he was envious. He would never trade in Meatlug—who was currently napping Odin-knew-where—but there was something to be said about the human-dragon bond Hiccup and Toothless shared. Nearly everyone on Berk enjoyed a close companionship with their respective dragon, but Hiccup and Toothless seemed to be inseparable—connected at the soul as well as their prosthetic appendages. Hiccup had the rarest, most impressive dragon they knew of, he had the chiefdom—not that Fishlegs wanted it—and he had Astrid, the woman he had always loved. Fishlegs hated to admit it, but how could he _not_ be jealous of a friend that had everything? Then, a somber thought came over him. Perhaps the divide between them was not so much Hiccup's fault as it was the product of Fishelgs' own suppressed jealousy? Fishelgs felt as though he could kick himself for the pettiness he felt for a friend so undeserving of it.

He really _was _weak.

* * *

It had taken another hour before Astrid was able to free herself from her duties at the mead hall, and she had been thoughtful enough to bring food to share. It felt like they had been awake for an eternity, but it was only midday—going more than a full day without sleep really threw off Hiccup's concept of time. As he unfolded his map of the archipelago on the ground outside of his tent, Snotlout and Astrid knelt on either side of him, hastily scarfing down their lunches as they studied it curiously. Fishlegs sat on the ground across from him, scratching Meatlug's belly one-handed, while the Twins leaned casually against Barf and Belch, enjoying their individual bowls of _skause*._

Hiccup found Astrid's presence comforting, but he was still getting used to willingly spending time with his cousin—it had been quite a while since they had been forced to cooperate. In the recent years, they had very little to relate on and no social commitments to bind them together. They had become strangers with nothing to connect them but a messy and scandalous family history. Their fragile friendship had dissolved with the dragon academy, and all that had remained was bitterness and rivalry—albeit, more on Snotlout's side of relationship than Hiccup's, but it affected them both nonetheless. Hiccup had to remind himself not to be automatically irritated with his cousin, out of habit, as they collaborated on a strategy against the Marauders. After all, he had asked for Snotlout's help. Their awkward and brittle truce was necessary to move forward.

While the three of them crowded around his map, Toothless and Stormfly wrestled each other blissfully in the shade, seemingly unperturbed by recent events on Bragaoss—Hiccup envied the unburdened souls of dragons. Every once in a while, Toothless would pause to set his large eyes on Hiccup, making sure he was still safe, or he would sniff at the air before determining there was no threat stalking them from a distance.

"So, what's the plan?" Tuffnut asked, shoveling a spoonful of thick stew into his mouth.

"We're going to get back those dragons," Hiccup said firmly, "and send the Marauders a clear message that we—and Bragaoss—are not to be messed with."

"Wonderful!...How do we do that, exactly?" Fishlegs asked curiously.

Hiccup shook his head, tracing the Marauders' route on the map with his finger.

"Dunno. Haven't gotten much further than that," he replied.

He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, and he gazed up at Astrid staring back at him with concern.

"Here," she said, offering him the remainder of her _skause_.

"Thanks, but I'm okay," he politely declined.

"Hiccup, when was the last time you ate something?" she asked, exasperated.

He thought for a moment and replied, "Yesterday, when we first got here."

"Yo' cwazy," Snotlout said around a mouthful of bread. "I stauve!"

He set his metal tankard of mead, or ale, or whatever it was he was drinking at that time—Hiccup really could not care less—directly on top of the map. Hiccup frowned and immediately relocated it onto the grass while Astrid stared at Snotlout with a look of revulsion at his uncouth behavior.

"You do know you're supposed to chew your food, right?" she asked mockingly.

"Shuh'up Athwid!" Snotlout retorted, trying to force his food down.

He grasped his drink to wash down the bread before placing it on the map again, oblivious to the smudge it left behind on the charcoal islands Hiccup had taken great care to chart.

"Can you not?" Hiccup asked calmly, moving the tankard aside for the second time, nearly spilling the alcohol as he set it down unsteadily on the grass.

"Can _you_ not?" Snotlout replied angrily, scooping up his precious drink with a scowl.

"Can you _both_ not?" Astrid interjected.

Snotlout gave a dismissive smirk before opening his mouth wide to take another oversized bite of bread, but Astrid quickly snatched the decently-sized round loaf out of his hand, and he stared back at her indignantly.

"Woman! What in Thor's name are—?"

"Like _you _really need it," she said sardonically.

Hiccup was mildly startled when Astrid shoved the bread into his hands instead.

"Eat that," she demanded, "if nothing else."

Food was the last thing on his mind, but the challenging glare from Astrid him told him it would be better not to argue. He started to break down the loaf into more manageable pieces as he spoke, being sure to avoid the part Snotlout had put his mouth on.

"Okay. Bragaoss is here, far to the northeast of Berk. This tiny little island is where we camped last night. It seemed like the Marauder ship we saw yesterday morning was headed somewhere to the northwest," he explained, gesturing vaguely off the edge of his map. He then popped a piece of bread in his mouth, making sure Astrid noticed so she would get off his back about his diminished appetite.

"Right, but then you and Ruffnut identified that same ship in the raid. So, wherever they were going, it could not have been so far that they would have more than a daylight hour's voyage back to Bragaoss—especially when you consider they had to prepare for it, and rally the other ships," she replied.

"Unless they were scouting for us, and never really went that far to begin with," Snotlout said.

"Then, where were the other ships? They had to be based somewhere, even if that is true," Astrid responded, brow furrowed.

"Maybe the other ships joined up later as a sort of crime of opportunity?" Snotlout suggested, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"No. That wouldn't make sense. The other ships were too prepared, as well. It was too perfect to be random. They knew exactly how to subdue our dragons. All their efforts were unified in taking us down," Hiccup said, shaking his head.

"What are you saying, Hiccup?" Astrid asked.

"I'm saying the dragons were what they've been after the whole time."

"Right! They_ were_ scouting for us the other day. They must've seen Ruffnut—" Snotlout began, but Hiccup cut him off.

"No. I mean before last night. These raids have been going on for a while. Heather said the size of the raiding parties has grown lately. She also said they have been getting worse, and more frequent, which is why she wrote to me. The nature of the attacks has changed from random plundering for survival to a deliberate search for something—which I believe to be dragons. Five _Drakkar_ longships carrying roughly—oh, two-hundred men, give or take—is not your average pillaging band of Marauders. That was an invasion force," he explained. "They came with the specific intent to capture dragons, and they have been systematically attacking Bragaoss all of this time for that same purpose."

"But that _still_ doesn't make sense," Astrid replied. "Heather also said a different group attacked during each raid—but up until last night, there have been no dragons for them to steal. Why, then, would they keep coming back? Why would every single raiding party keep looking for dragons they should have known weren't here? I mean, the Marauders are mostly fragmented now, so it would be a crazy coincidence…"

"Not if someone else is organizing them and mandating their dragon hunt," Hiccup replied. "I heard them talking about it—collecting dragons all over the archipelago for some guy named…ahh, I can't remember it."

"Yeah, but Astrid has a point. Why would all of these different groups keep coming back here, especially if one guy is behind it all? Shouldn't they have known there's no point?" Snotlout asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Hiccup thought for a moment, admittedly stumped over the futility in repetitively attacking a village for dragons that had the reputation of being, well...dragon-less. He knew Vikings were stubborn, and the ignorance of the Marauders only made them more incorrigibly belligerent—but something did not quite add up. He wondered if there was some detail he missed, or maybe something Heather had said which could help make sense of things.

"What do you guys think?" he asked Fishlegs and the Twins, who had been quiet during the entire exchange between Astrid, Snotlout, and himself.

"Wait. We were supposed to be thinking?" Tuffnut answered, frowning. "You should've warned us."

"Yeah. I didn't really catch any of that," Ruffnut added. "Mostly, 'blah blah blah, Marauders, dragons, we can't make up our minds, blah!'"

She spoke in that nasally way she did whenever she was impersonating him and Hiccup just rolled his eyes, turning to Fishlegs' instead.

The other Viking just shrugged and replied, "I can't even hazard a guess to why the Marauders do what they do."

Hiccup gave an exasperated sigh, remembering suddenly why he had specifically sought out Snotlout and Astrid's help—they were a great deal more reliable when it came to plotting and strategizing for war than the other three. The Twins did not have the attention span for it, and Fishlegs was even less enthralled by violence and combat than he was.

"Snotlout!" someone exclaimed.

They all glanced up to see none other than Heather walking briskly towards them. How fortuitous. Hiccup had been wanting to ask her more questions, but at the same time, the sight of her made his stomach clench unpleasantly.

"I thought I asked you a favor," she said to his cousin, frowning.

Snotlout shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes darting around as if he was trying to pull an excuse out of thin air.

"I, uhh…I thought you said Tuffnut?" he replied feebly.

Heather rolled her eyes.

"You know very well I asked you to find Hiccup for me."

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. He remembered Snotlout had mentioned something about her looking for him, but he had gotten sidetracked with other, more pressing matters. Not to mention, he had purposefully put Heather very low on his list of priorities. He was not very keen to rehash the events of the night before, and the underlying guilt he felt was bound to painfully resurface if she expressed any feelings of grief and loss for her deceased tribesmen. Call it cowardice, but he could not stand to face her disappointment at the moment.

"Oh! Well, imagine that! I found him," Snotlout responded, pointing dramatically at Hiccup as if he had just materialized beside him.

Choosing to ignore his cousin's idiocy, opposed to provoking more obnoxious behavior with the sarcastic remark buzzing around in his brain, Hiccup rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants. He also returned the loaf of bread to Snotlout, who looked positively delighted.

"What can I do for you, Heather?" he asked politely; he really had been dreading their next meeting.

"I wanted to speak with you, if you have a minute," she replied.

"Okay."

"Alone," she added, eyes flickering briefly to Astrid.

Inhaling sharply, Hiccup cast his girlfriend a cautious sidelong glance, anticipating some kind of unfavorable reaction. To his surprise, Astrid just sighed heavily but made no other obvious complaint, so he hesitantly complied with Heather's request.

"I'll be right back," he told the others.

Astrid and Snotlout both nodded before returning to the map, bouncing ideas back and forth of where the Marauders could possibly have taken their dragons. Tuffnut flashed him a mischievous grin and a thumbs-up while Ruffnut snickered beside him. Fishlegs, meanwhile, glanced back and forth between Hiccup and Heather skeptically. Everyone was just _so_ damn supportive.

Heather led him out of ear shot of the other riders before she turned towards him and spoke up.

"Are you…? How are you holding up?" she asked softly.

"I've been better," he answered, and left it at that. "Really, I should be asking _you_ that very same question."

"I'll survive," she replied shortly with a sad smile.

While he was certain there was much more repressed emotion behind her enigmatic statement, he was thankful she seemed as reluctant to discuss the details of raid and its aftermath as he was.

"You know it's not your fault," she told him, reaching for his hand. "Don't you?"

Hiccup pretended he suddenly needed to scratch the back of his neck to avoid the unnecessary physical contact.

"You wouldn't be the first person to tell me that," he said. "While I disagree, I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

"But Hiccup, you couldn't have—"

"—possibly known? I do seem to recall you describing the raids to me. I should've paid more attention."

"It's never been _this_ bad before. Yes, they came, trashed our village, burnt a few houses, maybe…victimized a few women, and killed only the men that fought back. As awful as it was, even the worst of it was always short lived. They never slaughtered us on this scale. What happened last night was unexpected for us, too. We thought we needed dragons just to scare them off and defend our island, but now I see we need them more than ever. I'm sure Old Man Dalgaard must've told you the same thing."

Ah, yes. Old Man Dalgaard was the village patriarch. He had been one of the first people to approach Hiccup after the raid, begging him to teach their people how to train dragons with an even greater sense of urgency than before—but what good were six young dragons going to do for an entire village, nearly a third of which had been seriously wounded? Dalgaard had sought him out two more times that morning, pleading his case again, as if sensing Hiccup's sudden misgivings about the whole mission.

"Dragons are the reason this happened to you," he said, frowning. "They have been attacking your village looking for them. Things didn't really go wrong last night until they saw we had dragons. Then we were the focus—the motivation behind every arrow they fired and every bola they threw at us. Your people were collateral damage in their mission to capture as many dragons as they could."

"But why? We've never had any dragons!" Heather replied. "I mean, Terrible Terrors, yeah—but nothing like yours. If they really were looking for domesticated dragons, why would they attack a small little village with nothing to offer them compared to a village like Berk?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to respond with some remark about his village's obscene amount of fully trained dragons, but then he was hit with a sudden epiphany that made him feel as though he had been doused in ice water. The solution had been so simple, he felt ashamed it had escaped him for so long.

"Oh, my gods…They weren't targeting your village for just _any _dragons…"

Heather furrowed her brow for a moment, working his statement over in her mind, then her eyes widened in realization, and Hiccup was glad for her intelligence; one of the reasons they got along so effortlessly.

"They've been trying to lure _you_ here!" she exclaimed. "All of this time, they wanted_ your_ dragons!"

They stared at each other for a moment as the sting of the truth set in, and Hiccup felt impossibly worse. So many Bragaossians had suffered because they had not been there to intercept the enemy horde sooner—but then, so many Bragaossians had still suffered because they _had_ arrived, and were powerless to stop the Marauders in the end. No matter what they did or did not do, Heather's people were dying and Berk's affinity for dragon training was the root cause of it all.

"But…how did they know raiding us would bring you here?" Heather asked. "How could they possibly have anticipated that we had any kind of alliance?"

Since Hiccup had peeled back the shroud of uncertainty, all the other pieces were falling so neatly into place in his mind.

"The Marauders are partially made up of Outcasts, right?"

Heather groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead, apparently reaching the same conclusion before he could finish his thought—again, he was thankful for her cleverness. It only made communication easier.

"Oh, _gods!_ They remember—the ordeal with Alvin and my parents…that you helped us!"

"They knew we had a connection to you, and they exploited it. It was a gamble, and they hoped we would come if you asked us to," Hiccup explained. "They were right. They knew they couldn't touch us on Berk, so they had to isolate us another way."

Heather gazed back at him apologetically, her bottom lip quivered as she choked back the tears brimming in her eyes. Hiccup found it uncomfortable to watch, not that he was unsympathetic, but it took a lot more for the women of Berk to cry. He was simply inexperienced in consoling the brokenhearted—Hooligan girls found hysterics unbecoming, and if any tears were shed, it was done in private where others would not be forced to deal with the indecency of their vulnerable state. Or, in his girlfriend's case, tears were a completely foreign concept.

"Hiccup, I am _so_ sorry. I had no idea," she whispered. "This is _my_ fault."

"It's alright," he told her reassuringly. "You can't possibly be held accountable for any of this."

How odd it was—the sudden role reversal—but he welcomed the change. It did not absolve him of his guilt, but at least he was no longer having to defend the merits of his shame; she was stuck in the same pitiful quagmire of self-reproach.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked. "You aren't going to leave Bragaoss, are you?"

"In light of recent facts, your people would certainly be much safer if we weren't here," Hiccup replied.

"Would we, really? How many more people would have died last night without your dragons to protect us?" Heather argued.

"How many more would have lived had we not given the Marauders a reason to prolong the raid?"

"They were going to come anyway, Hiccup. We would rather stand up to them than just roll over and die. Everyone who took up a weapon to fight did it to defend our home. You didn't make them go out there and fight the Marauders. If your dragons are what they were really after, it would have been too easy to hide away like cowards while they fought you guys—but we fought alongside you, instead. That was _our_ choice."

"What do you propose we do, then? We only have six adolescent dragons. That's not enough to defend your village if they come back."

Heather thought for a moment, then she replied, "Tell me, is there such a thing as an untrainable dragon? I mean, I know we joked about it during Winter Nights but…"

"Well, some are easier to train than others—but I think there's a way to earn just about any dragon's trust if you understand it. Although…I don't think I'd try to tame a Skrill as a general rule…why do you ask?"

He and Heather had very similar minds, so he was certain he already knew the answer to her inquiry, but it made him no less reluctant to hear it spoken aloud.

"Because we _do_ have dragons, then. The 'untrainable' ones. We have Thunderdrums."

"Yeah, but—"

"And Scauldrons."

"Even worse. They—"

"Are you saying _you _can't train them, Hiccup?"

"I'm saying it would be completely insane to try."

Heather glanced over at the other riders fondly and said, "Then I'm really glad you all came here. As I recall, crazy stunts are kind of your thing."

Hiccup sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Typically, he reserved the gesture for arguing with Snotlout or Astrid, but in that moment it seemed appropriate.

Wearily, he replied, "You know…I really hate that about us."

* * *

It had been five long years since the Berserkers had scattered like roaches to the farthest reaches of the archipelago, chased there by the relentless dragon riders from Berk. It had been a shameful end to the once proud and intimidating tribe of Vikings, led by Dagur the Deranged—a young man who was as fearless as he was insane. His untimely death had left the Berserkers without a leader to rally behind; no face to follow, and no cause. They soon fell victim to infighting as many different men tried to fill the void, but with every new vision and grab for power, there were dissidents, and so their tribe remained broken, weak, and purposeless. For survival, they had joined with the former Outcasts, drifting through the waters beyond the known, to new islands and new villages to plunder. It had been uncertain times, and they were constantly glancing watching their backs for the shadows of dragons if they ever drifted too close to Hooligan territory. Those that survived would tell tales of the shriek of a Night Fury before their ship sank to the depths below. That deterred them from ever drawing near Berk unless it was imperative to avert a storm—though some would have still braved the raging swells than chance the wrath of dragon's fire.

Hackett remembered those days. Pillaging what they could as they merely existed for the sake of existing. The occasional raid on a poor, unassuming village was enough to satiate their thirst for violence, but one could not escape the heavy hand of stagnation—a pointless life without direction

Then, came Drago Bludvist. Navigating waters far to the east inevitably brought the fragmented groups of Marauders in contact with other tribes and the whispers of a man who was ruthless and untouchable. He was a legend—a demon that had appeared out of smoke and fire to rally the scattered rabble of the defeated and the damned. He was amassing an army with promises of vengeance, and power, and a multitude of ways in which one could satisfy their raging bloodlust. It was a cause, and it was alluring. For the Marauders, it was a chance of redemption and unity again—an opportunity to salvage a reputation from the wreckage of their disgrace. They would have a leader, and a drive, and finally, a purpose. Granted, it would be shrouded in the will of this brutal beast of a man whom they had never seen—but it was progress. It was _living_. Drago would collect them and raise them up. He only required one small fee to join his ranks…

Dragons.

The man wanted dragons—and lots of them. There were rumors he possessed some power or some ability to control the animals in a manner that would shame even Stoick the Vast's son, connected to dragons, though he was.

Hackett would give his right arm to see that. He wanted nothing more than to payback the Hooligan teens for what they had done.

He ghosted his rough fingers over the taught and tender scar tissue that marred half his face. It was an extensive burn that had been slow to heal and excruciating to endure. He could still recall, in vivid detail, the creeping green gas that had surrounded him, obscuring his vision and path to escape before the resulting explosion that had seared his skin.

"Hackett! It's yer turn te watch the beasts," his comrade grumbled, jerking his thumb towards the iron cages that held the young dragons captive—there were six in all: two Monstrous Nightmares, one Deadly Nadder, one Gronckle, and two Hideous Zipplebacks.

"And? What do ye want me te do with 'em, eh? They're in those cages, right? I don't see the point," Hackett replied, sourly.

"If those dragons escape, and we lose our tribute te Drago, the boss will have our heads," the other man said with a scowl.

"Boss? That man doesn't know his own asshole from a hole in the ground," Hackett hissed.

"Aye? And ye'd tell him that yerself, even after his plan to lure the dragon riders worked well?"

"I would. I'm not scared of him."

"Well, now's yer chance. He's comin' over here…"

Hackett whipped around to see their leader striding towards them, and though he held his tongue in front of the other man, Hackett felt intimidated. Their boss had come a long way since his years as an underling to both Alvin, then subsequently Dagur, for a time. He had never been one to strike fear into the hearts of his men while he was second-in-command, but years of meager rations and regrets had hardened him. He had become obsessed with the need to join Drago's army—to lift himself out of the pit of obscurity that had long since swallowed up their pride and identity. He was a man with goals and motivation where there had previously been none. Other Marauding bands continue to sail aimlessly, but this man had gathered them all, told them about Drago—had set them on the path to fulfillment. He initiated the raid on Bragaoss—had anticipated the riders would come. He had been the one to devise the entire plan to bring them down. He knew the enemy and he could manipulate the situation in a way that breathed hope back into the Marauders' withered hearts.

"How are our dragons?" he asked, calmly surveying the creatures who were restless in their cramped cages, emitting ear-splitting roars and spewing tongues of flame between the gaps in the bars.

"Everything is going well, here, sir," Hackett's comrade replied with a slight inclination of his head. "Should we prepare fer another raid on Bragaoss? There are still more dragons te—"

"That won't be necessary. Hiccup will come to us—and he _will_ bring more dragons," their boss replied, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "We will have more than enough to impress Drago, then."

"And what _if_ Stoick's boy comes with more dragons? We've lost a lot of men," Hackett replied dubiously. "Could we withstand a direct attack? Our resources are depleted."

"Send word to our sister ships. If Hiccup attacks, we will throw everything we've got at him. He'll be expecting just five longships—I doubt he knows how organized we've become."

Hackett and this comrade glanced at each other, wicked grins playing on the corners of their lips.

"Well?" snapped their boss. "What are you idiots waiting for?"

"Sir?" Hackett asked, confused.

"Rally the fucking ships!"

"Yessir, Savage!"

000000000

**Author's Note:** Villain POV! Oh, and Hackett's not like…important or anything. I just needed to make up some Marauder character to share this side of the story through his insight. So, there you go. But, omg, Savage!

Anyway, I wanted so badly to finish this fic before the second movie came out in the US. That being said, I don't anticipate getting this fic done by Friday. It would be a miracle if I did. It poses a dilemma however, because I will likely be inspired to write a ton of stuff based on HTTYD2. I expect I will continue to work on this while simultaneously posting movie-based one-shots, and two-shots, and whatnot. Stuff and things. I won't stop writing this fic, though. I'm not planning a hiatus—but I don't believe I'll begin another full-length fic until after this one is complete. That just requires too much brain power. Also, any fics that come from me will, naturally, follow my established continuity and I will try to reconcile any serious differences with the canon as much as I can—but I figure I won't scrap my continuing storyline. I think some of us are a little too invested at this point. That's the vibe I'm getting from some of you, anyway. It gets me right in the feels.

Old Norse terminology:

_*Skause- _A type of hearty stew, typically consisting of many vegetables and some kind of meat. Simple enough, right?

Please review! Please?

Oh, please.

Pleeeeease!


	7. Passions and Pigheadedness

**Author's Note: **Ermahgerd, I'm updating so soon! What? Up is down, day is night! Nothing makes sense anymore! Ahhhh! Hahaha. Well, I'll enjoy it while I can. I don't suspect I'll be updating before late next week, or weekend. I have work obligations plus vacation time, and HTTYD2.

Also—fair warning—there's sexual content ahead, because _of course_. Judging from the content so far, I'm assuming none of you dear readers has any kind of issue with that, but I figured I'd do you a square and give you a heads up, anyway.

Y'know...so you're emotionally prepared...or...something.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the HTTYD franchise. I just love it long time.

0000000000

The sun had finally begun to set on that seemingly endless day, casting Bragaoss in a warm, ethereal glow. Come nightfall, the funeral pyres would be set ablaze and the entire village would gather around the multi-tiered structures to pay their respects to their fallen. Astrid did not know what was to become of the Marauders' bodies, nor did she really care to find out. Whatever unceremonious disposal they faced was justified, in her opinion.

As for the young dragons that had been killed—the village patriarch turned their remains over to Hiccup to bury. A funeral pyre would be ineffective for the dragons' bodies, seeing as how their skin was still resistant to flames, even in death, so Hiccup had used what little energy reserves he had left to dig four individual graves. He had done the deed alone, while everyone else slept, with only Toothless to aid him in his digging. Considering they all had been awake for more than a day by that point, the other dragon riders had retreated to their tents to take naps before that night's depressing events—Astrid included. She was completely unaware that Hiccup had remained awake to dutifully bury the dead dragons, and by the time she awoke, he was shoveling the last bit of dirt back over the final mound.

Toothless warbled softly at the sight of her, and Hiccup glanced up as she approached them. He managed to smile faintly in spite of his haggard appearance and somber work; clothes disheveled and caked with dirt. At least he had the sense to remove his leather riding garb in the midsummer's heat, but his tunic was still drenched with sweat and clung to his body in places.

"When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?" she asked him softly, brushing his damp bangs from his face.

"I don't remember," he murmured, and she sighed heavily.

Wonderful, selfless Hiccup. If he was not staying up late to keep watch over camp, or spending the midnight hours with her, or working long into the night on some project for Toothless at Gobber's forge, then he was getting up at dawn to fly with Toothless, or shadowing his father all day, or tending to some other matter that needed his attention as soon as it was daybreak. Bragaoss or Berk, it did not matter—a peaceful night's rest was luxury Hiccup did not get to enjoy often.

He propped his borrowed shovel against a tree, and though he would not complain to her, Astrid saw him brace himself against the mighty fir, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. His movements were sluggish and she noticed him sway, barely, as he took a step back.

"You need to sleep. For a few hours, at least," she told him sternly.

"I can't," he replied. "The funeral starts at sundown. I don't have the time."

She was about to protest, but it was pointless. Paying his respects to the dead was one of those things Hiccup felt obligated to do as a matter of propriety—as the future chief of Berk. Stubborn as ever, he would not be deterred until he passed out where he stood.

"Well, you can't go looking like that," Astrid replied, wrinkling her nose as she brushed some dirt from his clothes. "Or…smelling like that."

Hiccup laughed softly, Thor bless him—he could still find it within himself to have a sense of humor.

"No. I suppose I can't," he agreed.

Astrid returned to their tent to fetch his things while Hiccup disappeared among the trees, accompanied by Toothless. She had insisted she bring his change of clothes to him, feeling he was much too filthy to set foot where they both slept and made love, among other things. Hiccup had simply been too tired to argue and easily conceded, and though Astrid had never been on Bragaoss before, she had no difficulty tracking him down—Stormfly had become rather adept at finding Toothless.

The dragons curled up beside one another, curiously watching any birds that flew overhead, while Astrid approached the bank of the stream. Hiccup had discarded his messy clothes on a nearby swatch of grass and was already vigorously scrubbing the obstinate dirt from his skin. He had not strayed too far from the rocky bank, needing the support in the event he lost his balance—his prosthetic laid on the ground beside his clothes. For the most part, it was shallow where the water rushed over clusters of rocks on its way downhill, but it pooled waist-high in places where the surrounding landscape leveled out. Astrid sat down on a smooth boulder at the water's edge that was half-submerged in the gently swirling current. The water appeared dark in the dim light of the sunset that filtered in between the densely packed trees, but occasionally, a golden ray of sunlight would glimmer off the surface of the stream. The small forest was alive with the songs of birds and insects, bidding the sun goodnight with the day's final serenade before the still and quiet of the twilight hours set in. For as small and unassuming an island as Bragaoss was, Astrid could not help but appreciate its wealth of natural beauty.

Hiccup waded over to her, sliding a hand along the large rocks and boulders that lined the banks of the stream, to keep his footing steady as he hopped along. She found herself wishing the water level fell just a bit lower on his body as she offered him a modest block of scented Roman soap she had bought off Trader Johann.

"So tell me, Hiccup...how exactly do you plan to take an entire village, inexperienced in dragon training, and have them expertly riding on the backs of Scauldron and Thunderdrums by the end of the week?" she asked with a frown.

"With Odin's blessing and a lot of dumb luck," he replied sarcastically, working the soap into a lather.

Astrid just shook her head and drew her knees to her chest.

"It's going to take a lot more than that," she replied. "Even _if_ we manage to pull it off, we still have no idea where their stronghold is."

"Then we'll scout the surrounding islands if we have to. What's the alternative? If we leave, then Bragaoss is defenseless and they _will_ attack again. If we stay, but do nothing, we're still vulnerable. The Marauders have the upperhand, and they know it. Our only option is, well, something drastic and unexpected."

Astrid sighed heavily and said, "It seems like every plan we ever make is somehow drastic and unexpected."

"Right. Then we should have no trouble—We're quite good at it by now."

She smiled ruefully, amused by his quip but distressed at the thought of going head-to-head with the diminutive fleet of Marauders again. Few in longships, though they were, the enemy seemed well equipped to combat dragons—their entire invasion of Baragoss had centered upon it. She was more than willing to punish the Marauders tenfold for what they had done to the innocent villagers, but she could not help but feel their current plan was reckless, even by Hiccup's standards. When she closed her eyes, she saw Meatlug take a nosedive into a burned out building, and the Twins toppling into the sand as their dragon was overcome. Her worst memories of the raid, by far, were Hiccup and Toothless plunging into the sea, and the heartbreak on her lover's face as he stabbed the suffering young Zippleback. She feared these horrible flashbacks would soon transform into premonitions of similar tragedies yet to come.

If Hiccup was as concerned about such things, he did not let on. He was silent as he finished rinsing the soap from his skin before moving onto his hair, undoing the small braids Astrid had so lovingly made. It was a game they often played with each other—Hiccup would remove the braids whenever he bathed, insisting he did not care for them, but Astrid would pounce when he least expected it, replacing them as he rolled his eyes. She knew, in all actuality, he did not mind the braids, because he would usually leave them in place until the next time he bathed, beginning their little battle all over again.

She watched as he dipped beneath the water for only a moment to sufficiently wet his hair. When he resurfaced, a thought crossed her mind.

"Hiccup, I want to wash your hair," she said softly. *

He looked taken aback by the offer.

"I...you—_really_?" he asked, perplexed.

It was not a common gesture performed between dating individuals. Astrid had only ever heard of such a thing from the mouths of married women. It was such a tender display of affection from a wife to her husband, but considering their mutual love for one another, and the assumption they would inevitably marry, she did not think her request was unreasonable.

She withdrew a composite comb from the folded up bath linens she had brought with her and Hiccup hesitantly turned around, backing up against the rock on which she sat. Astrid shifted onto her knees and began gently raking the comb through his wet hair.

"What do you think the Marauders want with the dragons they stole?" she asked. "It seems so strange they would suddenly go to such great lengths after all of this time."

"I have no idea," he replied. "Revenge, maybe? Pure spite? Who knows why they do what they do, but I doubt they want to keep them as pets."

"Weapons of war, probably," Astrid muttered, dipping the comb in the stream before returning it to his hair. "That's what Alvin and Dagur wanted."

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said.

"Not always. You're usually right about most things."

"Not lately."

Astrid rolled her eyes.

"We're all allowed to make mistakes, Hiccup. Even you. I wish you'd come to terms with that," she said flatly.

"Sure—but when I make mistakes, people get hurt. I didn't know I'm supposed to be okay with it."

"You were born to be chief. It's just part of the job. People live and die by the decisions you make," she stated, wetting the comb yet again.

"Thanks for the wonderful pep-talk, Astrid. Suddenly, I feel much better about the blood on my hands," he replied, with that characteristically dry and biting sarcasm of his.

Astrid gave an exasperated sigh and said, "Look, Hiccup—sometimes things go wrong, in spite of all your cleverness and best intentions. What defines you as a chief isn't whether you could prevent it or not, but what you ultimately decide to do about it. I have known you all my life, and even when I wanted nothing to do with you, I still noticed your perseverance and tenacity. You have a knack for making the best of a bad situation. You always have."

Hiccup was quiet as she finished combing through his hair, and she knew he was deeply reflecting on her words. Her boyfriend was a thinker, after all, which created as many issues for him as it did solutions. Simpler minds, such as Tuffnut and Snotlout, enjoyed a significantly more carefree existence than he did. Ignorant individuals knew peace of mind on a level Hiccup had never achieved—unless he was soaring through the skies on Toothless. To have his feet on the ground was to tether him to reality and all the worries attached to it.

"My greatest fear in all of this is that you will get hurt the next time we fight the Marauders," Astrid confessed, holding a bath linen out to him. "_Your _greatest fear is that you will fail. Injury and death only scare you because it means you lost."

Hiccup, with some difficulty, pulled himself out of the water and took the linen from her, balancing on his one good leg as he dried off.

"Give me more credit than that," he said. "You make it sound like it's a pride thing. I don't want to fail because the people I care about might die—_you_ might die...or Toothless. If I lost either of you, I would never forgive myself."

Astrid rose to her feet, standing in front of him with her hands impatiently on her hips. He gazed at her warily in his vulnerable state, angling his naked body away from her defensively. He flinched a little when she suddenly reached out for him, but quickly relaxed into her touch as she gently caressed his face.

"Your plan might crazy, but I'm willing to believe in it," she told him softly. "If there is one person who can seamlessly pull off reckless and ill-advised, it's you. You're smarter than all of them, Hiccup. You're the smartest person I have ever known."

He smiled and replied, "Thanks...but what if it's not enough to be clever, this time?"

"Then it's a good thing you're also the strongest person I have ever known."

He frowned and took a step back from her, shaking his head slightly. He bent down for the pile of clean clothes Astrid had brought for him.

"I'm not strong," he said wearily. "I'm _tired_."

* * *

Ruffnut stood beside her brother in front of the long row of massive funeral pyres they helped construct that morning. At the time, it was difficult for her to think of them as anything more than mountains of kindling, so it was very sobering to see them used for their intended purpose, laden with the bodies of the dead. As the fallen were laid out for the ceremonial cremation, Ruffnut finally realized the scope of the massacre and the final death toll. For a small village, like Bragaoss, the loss was staggering. Finally, she begun to feel a fire stirring in her—the same passion for retribution that had consumed Hiccup, Astrid, and Snotlout. Even her tactless twin brother had no disrespectful jokes to make as the pyres were set aflame with the conclusion of the patriarch's tribute to the dead.

The fires burned fiercely and the thick plumes of smoke rose high into the night sky, mingling with the haunting wails of the bereaved. Ruffnut felt like an intrude ras she stood among the villagers, saddened by the injustice of it all, but not truly as distraught as she would have been had the attack occurred on Berk. She and her friends paid their respects to the slaughtered, but they were still outsiders, looking in. It was oddly voyeuristic, even by her standards. They had all split up when they had first joined up with throng of people guiding them to the outskirts of the village where the pyres awaited. Ruffnut had lost sight of Fishlegs and Snotlout in the multitude, but she could see Hiccup and Astrid standing two pyres down from her, looking as appropriately somber as expected of them.

It was a dreadfully sad affair. The number of deceased prevented any funeral ships from being constructed—there simply was not the time or manpower for it. Their bodies would be burned and the ashes buried by family with all that would be necessary to keep them comfortable in Valhalla. Ruffnut only hoped the same care and consideration was given to her whenever she died.

"We have to get them back for this," came a voice beside her that made her jump.

She turned to see Fishlegs standing there, having snuck up beside her at some point during the speech given by the village patriarch, just moments before the pyres were lit.

"Well, that _is_ the plan," Ruffnut replied in a hushed voice as to not disturb those in mourning around them.

"Yeah...complete with Scauldrons and Thunderdrums. I can't wait," Fishlegs muttered sarcastically under his breath. "For a second there, I thought Hiccup was joking. I was just waiting for him to throw in something about training Skrills."

"You can't train a Skrill, dumbass," Tuffnut whispered.

"I know. That's the whole—never mind," Fishlegs replied.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ruffnut noticed they were beginning to get a lot of indignant glares aimed their way from the surrounding villagers, and she felt genuine remorse for interrupting their grieving process.

"Come on," she told to other two. "Follow me."

She navigated her way through the crowd as inconspicuously as she could, and Tuffnut slipped effortlessly between people in her wake—Fishlegs had a much more difficult time, considering his much larger size. Once they had made it back into the village proper, which was eerily vacant, they felt free to talk.

"Do you think this plan will work? Can you and Hiccup actually teach Bragaossians to train Scauldrons and Thunderdrums?" Ruffnut asked Fishlegs curiously.

"Sure...if _we_ can ever figure out how to train Scauldrons and Thunderdrums," he replied with a frown.

"The Chief trained a Thunderdrum once, didn't he?" Tuffnut inquired, forcing his way between Ruffnut and Fishlegs—she had not realized they were walking so close together.

"From the way Hiccup described it, the Chief never actually trained Thornado. They just had some kind of mutual respect and understanding. Some kind of bond forged by flexing muscles or something," Fishlegs explained. "I mean, do you think Barf and Belch would take off if you set him loose the way the Chief did with Thornado?"

"He probably wouldn't know what to do with himself if we set him free," Tuffnut replied. "I mean, he hardly knows what to do with himself as it is."

"That's because you guys give him conflicting signals at times," Fishlegs said flatly. "One head does one thing, the other head does another..."

"You make it sound like we _haven't_ gotten any better," Ruffnut retorted irritably.

She resented the fact she and her brother were often regarded as the worst trainers when the academy was still up and running. It was not like they never tried, or never contributed anything of value to the group. Most of the time, it was very hard to stand there and listen to Hiccup and Fishlegs lecture—it seemed like the two of them sure loved to hear the sound of their own voices. How could they expect to keep her interest when they were not talking about dragons' destructive firepower? What was so enthralling about specific diets and where, exactly, a dragon liked to be scratched?

"You've improved!" Fishlegs said quickly. With a coy grin, he added, "I mean, it must be very difficult to fly a two-headed dragon, and you do it so—"

"It doesn't count if you're just kissing ass!" Ruffnut snapped, irritably.

Tuffnut snickered to himself, apparently amused by her anger, and it only just made her more agitated. If Fishlegs and Snotlout were not stumbling over themselves for her attention, her brother was taking pleasure in her failed romances and lecturing her on the pitfalls of her promiscuity—as if he was one to talk. The only sane, level-headed male she knew anymore was Hiccup, and he was about as undesirable to her as he was completely off-limits. She was losing patience with the whole mess that was her love life. They were in the middle of a war with the Marauders, but all serious conversations she had with either Fishlegs or Snotlout seemed to quickly dissolve into attempts to bed her. Tuffnut was far from a confidant about any of it, and Astrid would not be interested. She was stuck with only the insatiable lust of two childhood friends and the criticisms of her brother to keep her company. It was getting intolerable, and the only thing preventing her from lashing out against Fishlegs was the fact he was just so timid and pitiful in his advances.

Maybe the Viking just needed one conquest under his belt before he would be worth pursuing anything with?

Oh, gods. Apparently _she_ could not stop thinking about it either. Great. She had to get away from the brain-numbing onslaught of testosterone.

"I'm going back to bed," she declared, abruptly turning on her heel.

Fishlegs and Tuffnut stopped in their tracks, staring at her in mild surprise.

"What? But wh—the funeral's not over yet!" Fishlegs protested.

"Are _you_ going back to that misery-fest?" she asked pointedly, and Fishlegs just stared at the ground, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Do you care if I take Barf and Belch out later, then?" Tuffnut asked.

"No," Ruffnut replied, quickly walking away, leaving them in the shadows. "Do what you want."

She did not much care what Tuffnut or Fishlegs did for the rest of the evening, as long as they did it far away from her. She hurried back to camp, feeling a surge of relief when her tent came into view. She was about to duck inside it when a twig snapped behind her, and she felt her heart sink. Her hopes of solitude were suddenly evaporating. Reluctantly, she whipped around to see Snotlout standing there, patiently. Honestly, she was not too shocked.

"I should've known. I can't go anywhere on this island without either you or Fishlegs stalking me," she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. "What do you want?"

"What are you doing here? I thought you went to the funeral," he said ignoring her rudeness.

"What are _you_ doing here? I saw you heading that way, too," she replied, suspiciously.

"I, uhh...I don't like funerals. The dead are dead. What do they care about what we do with them? Funerals are just there to make the living feel better about it," he said.

Ruffnut was taken aback.

"You don't believe in Valhalla and Hel?" she asked skeptically, remembering an occasion where Snotlout was convinced he was seeing omens of his own death—Oh, how he had _whined_ about Valhalla then.

"I believe in the afterlife!" he replied defensively. "But, obviously if you burn the bodies in Midgard, they aren't going with the souls to Valhalla, right? Once the smoke carries the soul to the afterlife, why all the standing around and grieving afterward? The dead don't see it. There's no point."

She found his statement oddly insightful and it gave her pause.

"I came here to get away from Fishlegs and Tuffnut," she stated candidly—it was only fair after the honest answer he had given her.

"And me?"

"Especially you," she retorted. "I need a break from all of the flirting and Tuffnut thinking he knows better."

"Well, I have small cask of ale I brought from home—"

"_That's _a bad idea," she muttered.

"Are you really going to make me drink alone?" he asked.

Ruffnut narrowed her eyes at him.

"That's the complete opposite of getting away from you," she scowled, placing her hands on her hips.

"One drink, no flirting. I swear," he said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

It was the wrong thing to do, and she knew it. It was a horrible, rotten idea to give in to a humble request from Snotlout that was undoubtedly meant to disguise much less innocent motivations. They had gone down that path before, years ago, and it had been mead that lowered their inhibitions then. They had not slept together that time, as good fortune had brought Hiccup to unwittingly interrupt their downward spiral. It was a dangerous combination—her, Snotlout, and alcohol—but there was so much more to drink to forget in the present than there ever had been in the past. The offer was tempting—too tempting. One option took her into the refuge of her tent behind her, keeping her safe from the wily charm ale bestowed upon Snotlout, in the presence of her alcohol-induced indiscretion. The other option took her across the campsite into his tent, where they would talk and drink with the pretense of nothing more than companionship while they still clung to sobriety. Eventually they would lose count of how much they each imbibed, and then suggestible reasoning would take hold as a prelude to a morning of regret and shame. She could see it all playing out in her mind, and it should have been an easy choice, really. There was only one wise decision make—then again, Ruffnut had been known to succumb to the occasional bout of extreme foolishness more often than she cared to admit to herself.

"One drink," she agreed. "If you try to flirt with me, I'll cut you to match Hookfang."

Snotlout just chuckled, and Ruffnut's tent became a more distant thought with every step she took towards the other side of camp.

* * *

Hiccup and Astrid had quietly taken their leave from the funeral, confident no one would miss them as the night drew on. Hiccup had performed his duty as future chief and had stayed long enough to bear witness to the pain and the grief their battle with the Marauders had left behind. He was emotionally and physically drained, and when a little girl in the crowd openly wept for her father, calling out his name in despair, he could stand it no longer. He took Astrid by the hand, and together, they fled from the anguish that echoed through the darkness. They had no particular destination in mind, but had somehow ended back on the beach where they had watched, helplessly, as the Marauders sailed off into the night with their dragons. Hiccup found it hard to believe only one day had passed since then—it felt as though it had been an eternity.

"Hiccup, I've been thinking...why not write to your father? Ask for reinforcements?" Astrid suggested.

"Because my dad won't give them. He was against this idea from the start. If I tell him what happened, he will insist we abandon Bragaoss and the dragons the Marauders took with them," Hiccup replied, offering her his hand.

There was a time not that long ago she would have scoffed at him and declined, but he could not help but smile faintly as her hand found his, lacing their fingers together.

"But if you explained everything—that they were baiting us, and that they're organizing—"

"My dad will be even more convinced we need to pack up and fly straight home."

"Your saying the Chief doesn't care about Bragaoss?" Astrid asked skeptically.

"I'm saying he cares about my life more," Hiccup replied. "I'm kind of valuable to Berk. I'm not sure if you picked up on that."

Astrid smirked and punched him lightly in the shoulder with her other hand.

"I just think we would have much better odds if we had other riders from home backing us up," she said with a shrug.

"You're right. We would—but my dad will never agree to it. Our dragons and my life matter too much for him to gamble on a skirmish with the Marauders in unfamiliar waters. Even if he understands my reasons, he would not let me stay—."

"Well, I suppose that's always better than the alternative. At least he's not ashamed of you anymore," she said teasingly, nudging him.

"Sometimes, it would honestly suit me better," he replied dryly.

Astrid just shook her head and turned to face him directly.

"Hold still," she demanded.

"Why?"

"Just do it," she ordered, reaching up to play with his hair.

He rolled his eyes as he felt her deftly twisting new braids in place. His hair was not nearly long enough to warrant such decoration, but Astrid was relentless.

"I will never understand what you find so appealing about these," he said.

"It's like you'll always have a little piece of me with you," she replied.

"I thought that's what the bruises were for," he retorted playfully, and she swatted his arm with the back of her hand.

"No. You get those for being an idiot," she retorted with a grin.

Hiccup laughed softly as she finished up the second braid—it was bad enough to have one, be she so often insisted on two. Astrid took a step back to admire her work in the moonlight, and he just stared back at her fondly. In spite of all their mutual teasing and playful banter, tenderness and adoration was the foundation of everything that they did. No matter how peculiar he found Astrid's behavior or sentiments, whenever she chose to express them, he could not help but feel the deepest affection for her, even in the midst of exasperation. In the recent years, everything in his life revolved around his leadership potential and the suffocating responsibility of inheriting the chiefdom. Such stress and obligations made him feel much older than he was—mentally equal to his father in both years and lassitude—but Astrid was his escape. She brought him back to that place where they had no concerns but each other, enjoying an evening rendezvous on Dragon Island with the worries of home beyond the horizon, falling in love, uninhibited for the first time. He would be turning twenty within a fortnight, but with Astrid by his side, he felt ageless.

"What is it?" she inquired curiously in response to his silence.

She took a step closer to him, sliding so effortlessly into his arms—countless times they had held one another, and every time it made him want her with all the same intensity as if he had never had her before. Countless times more he hoped to embrace her in the same manner, needing her, with every fiber of his being crying out for the sense of completion that only Astrid could ever give him.

"I'm exhausted," he told her, reaching up to gently tug at the end of her long, flaxen braid. "Let's call it a night?"

She gazed up at him, a look of understanding flickering in her eyes, and for a moment, he doubted his intentions. Was it right of them to pursue their own carnality, on a night so full of sorrow and mourning for so many others? How disrespectful was it to abandon the funeral pyres in order to tumble into bed, passionately intertwined? He felt conflicted, once again caught between what he wanted, and what was the proper action to take.

As if sensing his sudden hesitation, Astrid leaned up and kissed his lips gently.

"You only get one shot at life, Hiccup. Let's not insult the dead by wasting it. We'll never have this moment again," she whispered in a sultry tone— and that was the only permission he needed.

* * *

Snotlout did not know how much ale he and Ruffnut had consumed, only that the cask was empty much sooner than he hoped it would be—so much for one drink shared between friends. If he had to hazard a guess, he would put the total count somewhere around ten goblets full between them, and it was enough that conversation came easy and small touches were not immediately refused.

They sat in his tent, huddled close together on a collection of woolen blankets that served as a bed so far from home. Ruffnut was on her knees, draining the last drops of alcohol from her goblet, while Snotlout rested on his side with his fingers trailing idly up and down her slender arm. She may not have been Astrid, but Ruffnut had her own appeal that Snotlout had come to appreciate—whether from necessity or a genuine attraction, he did not know. The fact of the matter was he wanted Ruffnut, whatever the reason. That, alone, was enough.

"So , Hiccup actually came to _you_ for help?" Ruffnut asked skeptically.

"I know it's hard to believe, with him being so..._perfect_ and all, but he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing right now," Snotlout replied. "He realized I might actually be better suited for this whole thing."

"_What_ whole thing?"

"Chiefing!" Snotlout declared proudly.

"Pffft! You're full of it!" Ruffnut retorted. "Maybe he wants your help with strategy, but you do _not_ make a better chief than Hiccup."

Snotlout frowned, feeling the sting of wounded pride much more sharply when the damage was inflicted by the object of his affection. He was used to criticism and snide remarks from Astrid, but he and Ruffnut generally had a better rapport. Despite the appearance of thick skin, Snotlout took most things to heart—but to show such weakness was unbecoming of a chief. Instead, he simply removed his hand from her.

"It used to be the other way around," he said bitterly. "Only a few years ago he was expected to kiss _my_ ass. I was going to be the next chief—not him."

"Do you really still hold that against him?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

As a general rule, Snotlout did not discuss his family history, and the shadow it cast on his relationship with Hiccup, but copious amounts of alcohol loosened lips, and he was not immune to such effects.

"What else am I supposed to do? I had everything going for me, and then Hiccup trains a fucking dragon and it's all over—just like that!" he said, with a snap of his fingers for emphasis. "My entire life I was told I was going to be the next chief, then I have to watch it all be given to my stupid cousin. I'm sorry if I'm still a little angry about it."

"But it was always _supposed_ to be Hiccup. You were just an alternate because—"

"I _know!_" Snotlout snapped. "I know who I am—who my father is."

Ruffnut looked taken aback by his outburst—he had not raised his voice at her since...well, since he had been trying to gain her favor. The last thing he wanted when he invited her into his tent was to discuss his bastard lineage, but the conversation had somehow turned in that direction.

"I don't know why you want to be chief," she said cautiously. "All of that responsibility and pressure...Hiccup looks miserable enough."

She had a point, but it was never posed to him as an option.

"I...I just...my dad..."

Ruffnut laughed and Snotlout found it offensive. What could possibly be amusing about his complicated family dynamics?

"I guess you and Hiccup really _are_ related. You both have so much fucking daddy drama."

"I do _not_—!"

"You're a grown-ass man, aren't you? Who cares what your dad thinks anymore?"

If only it was that simple. Snotlout had made the mistake of occasionally speaking up for himself if he disagreed with his father, and it never ended well for him.

"You don't know...how mean he can get," Snotlout muttered.

Ruffnut drew back her hand as if to slap him, and Snotlout recoiled automatically. She made a "Hmn" noise in her throat, and he felt a sympathetic touch on his shoulder that was both foreign and electrifying. She may have meant to reassure him, but such pity was only embarrassing and emasculating.

"I get it. So he's _that_ kind of mean," she murmured. "I guess I always sort of assumed..."

Snotlout scowled and stared at the ground—he could not see much in the darkness anyway.

"It doesn't matter. Just forget about it," he said bitterly.

They sat in silence for a moment, feeling the pleasant buzz of inebriation pierced by the harsh realities Snotlout would sometimes drink to forget. Apparently, he should have brought another cask.

"You know, if I were you, I would consider myself very lucky," Ruffnut said, breaking the uncomfortable lull in their discussion.

Snotlout considered himself to be a lot of things, but blessed with good fortune was not one of them. Not anymore.

"Why?" he asked, bewildered.

"Well, Hiccup _has_ to become chief now, doesn't he? He doesn't have a choice, but you do. Since he took that away from you, you have all the choices in the world— lucky you."

Snotlout stared at her, not sure what to make of her profound statement, but he did feel reassured in some small measure—moreso than he had ever been by anyone else's advice. It was comforting to confide in someone who took him seriously—who actually understood. He sat up and inched even closer to her so that his chest brushed along her arm.

"What about you?" he asked before knocking back the very last sip of ale he had. "What brought you in here to drink with me?"

For once, he had grown weary of talking about himself. He finally had Ruffnut alone for the first time—no Fishlegs trying to make a move, and no Tuffnut eyeing him with great disapproval. Her guard was down and so was his bravado, and he had the opportunity to learn more about her—the girl he had known his entire life, who hid behind an enigmatic mask of indifference and carelessness. In spite of the darkness, they were seeing each other more clearly through the haze of intoxication than they ever did through sober pigheadedness.

"Sometimes I need to forget I'm a twin," she confessed. "I need to be able to make my own choices and my own mistakes. I'm not just another piece of Tuffnut—like his stupid dreadlocks."

"I understand," he replied, leaning in closer.

She held up a hand to stop him, covering his lips with the palm of her hand.

"And I am _not_ just some last resort because you and Fishlegs have no other choice!" she griped.

Snotlout pried her hand from his mouth.

"Last resort? Woman! I've been trying to get with you for the past three years, at least! You think I'd waste so much time on a last resort? I never got any further because you hate me!" he said, defensively.

Ruffnut made and aggravated groan, and he sensed a reluctant confession teetering on the edge of her lips.

"I don't completely hate you," she retorted with an exasperated sigh.

"Good! I don't hate you, either!"

"Just most of the time," she said with a smirk, leaning in—his heart suddenly began to pound with anticipation.

"And what about right now?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow, still fuming in spite of the attraction he felt.

"I hate you much less than usual," she muttered under her breath.

There was a moment's hesitation from both of them, their faces hovering just inches apart, then their lips were colliding for the first time in a long while— hard, and desperate. It was a sloppy and uncoordinated kiss, which was strangely appropriate for the two of them, and Snotlout was inwardly rejoicing in his victory. He had so many failed attempts under his belt, whether it was with Astrid or Ruffnut. It almost seemed impossible to him that he had succeeded at anything romantically, and yet Ruffnut was sliding into his lap, grabbing fistfuls of his tunic as she deepened the kiss they shared.

He knocked their empty goblets aside and grabbed her by the hips, unceremoniously tipping her back on top of his blankets before lowering himself on top of her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, which created and awkward tangle of lanky limbs around his significantly shorter, stouter frame. Their movements were clumsy as they sought the fastenings of each other's clothing in the dark, shedding their garments as quickly as they could reasonably manage, considering the lack of light and their inebriated states. He did not know if he would ever get to be with her again, once sobriety and reason caught up with them in the morning, and there was a sense of urgency to his actions. Every touch and every kiss was rushed, as if he had a quota to fill before the moment was inevitably behind him.

Ruffnut was not gentle or composed, either—her lips and her tongue moved over his skin in a demanding fashion. Her fingernails dug into his back and her hips rocked against his impatiently, urging him to thrust faster and harder into her thin frame. Apparently, she was not as dainty a thing as one might think, and Snotlout appreciated her for it. "Making love" and the "throes of passion" were nice enough euphemisms for sex, but neither seemed appropriate enough in that moment. There were many words that could more adequately describe what they were doing—but he would not be tempted to use them in polite conversation.

He had no expectations when they began. All other experiences he had to compare Ruffnut to were casual one-night stands—but he supposed their passionate encounter might also fall into that category with the rising of the sun. It depended solely on her, of course. He would always be a willing participant. The only thing he _did _know was that it was all as wonderfully fulfilling as he hoped it would be. The many fantasies he had did not leave him disappointed with reality, and perhaps the only downside to their mutual eagerness was how quickly it brought sex to its end. Regardless, he felt the deepest sense of satisfaction as he collapsed beside her. His head was fuzzy with the lingering effects of intoxication and post-coital bliss, and if he died right then, he would not think it was such a terrible thing.

Ruffnut was unusually quiet as she lie beside him, staring up at the canvas of his tent. He grinned broadly and reached for her, but she was reluctant to come to him. With a couple more insistent tugs at her arm, she relented and curled up at his side, tightly wrapping a blanket around herself, as if suddenly modest.

"See? It's not nearly as much fun to drink alone," he said with a faint chuckle.

Ruffnut murmured, "Dumbass."

Snotlout took it as her own unique term of endearment and smiled to himself before sleep claimed him, unconcerned with the trials of tomorrow.

* * *

Astrid had to admire Hiccup's determination. She would have lost the battle with sleep hours ago, had she been in his shoes. She figured he must have managed to adapt to sleep deprivation out of necessity—with all the late hours he spent on various inventions and night flying with Toothless—but even _he_ had to have felt the toll of nearly two straight days of wakefulness. There was only one sure way she could think of to ensure he slept, overcoming any excuse he might possibly think of to do the contrary. Thankfully, he had been as enthusiastic about it as she was. He had only protested a little when she had pushed him back against their bed of furs, holding him down with a firm pressure on his shoulders. He, of course, wanted to do the courteous thing—making her pleasure the priority—but there were plenty of other opportunities for that. Hiccup had more than earned one for himself.

The throaty moan that had escaped him when she lowered her head, taking him into her mouth, had filled Astrid with such pride to know she could do for him what no one else could. A flick of her tongue could break him of his rigid composure, and a skillful bob of her head could put him back together again, drawing a contented sigh from his lips. She enjoyed being able to manipulate him so easily—and in such a moment, it was obvious Hiccup was very agreeable to being manipulated. He did not have to think and he did not have to worry. At night, she could free him from all of his concerns. It was empowering—but more importantly, it made her happy to satisfy him. She could demonstrate her love on a level words just could not reach. She could be both his release from, and tether to his sanity. The way he had buried his fingers in her hair and called out her name communicated, beyond a doubt, that she was as much his whole world as he was hers.

She had heard other women—mainly, Ruffnut—talk about oral sex before, with a tone of mockery or disgust, but she could not relate to either. What was so repulsive about the act when there was nothing repulsive about her lover? She had done it with Hiccup many times before, and she still did not understand what drove others to speak about it as something so filthy. Neither the thought of her mouth on his sex or swallowing his release gave her an ounce of reluctance about it all. There were far more offensive things in the world...Hiccup had been wound so tight that Astrid did not need to endure the aching of her jaw for too long. He had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, but not before he had pulled her into his arms. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and, in a very tired voice, whispered, "Thank you."

Astrid had thought it silly he felt the need to thank her for anything. It was not like satisfying him in any form was some kind of chore for her—but that was just Hiccup, she figured. He still seemed so surprised she was willing to pleasure him without expecting anything in return. He could be such an endearing fool in the matter of her desire for him.

The night had come and gone, but they had made the most of it, and Astrid glanced over at Hiccup, smiling softly as he slept peacefully beside her. He looked more like the boy she had first fallen for than the young man he had eventually become—but whom she loved impossibly more. His features were illuminated by the first rays of sunlight peeking over the trees and pouring into their tent so rudely, but he did not wake. It was the first time since they had left Berk that she had seen him so relaxed, and she hoped he could enjoy it for a least a little while longer.

But it was simply not to be.

There came a commotion outside of their tent, comprised of angry shouting and the snarls of dragons. Astrid sat bolt upright, listening to the heated exchange of words that she could not quite make out. Hiccup stirred beside her, opening his eyes slowly, but his brow remained furrowed as he listened intently to the ruckus. Astrid felt a pang of sadness for him when she noticed he was awake, an extra hour of sleep escaping him.

"What, in Thor's name...?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes groggily.

Astrid shrugged, and crawled for the entrance of the tent, intending to peek outside, but frantic footsteps approached and she immediately scrambled back towards the covers, prepared to cover her naked body with furs if need be.

"Hiccup! You're going to want to see—Snotlout's gone insane!" Fishlegs exclaimed; he had apparently learned not to casually throw open the tent from the last time he had made that regretful mistake.

"Was Snotlout _ever_ sane?" Astrid asked Hiccup sarcastically.

He sighed heavily and sat up, reluctantly reaching for his discarded clothes.

"Is it too much to ask that the others manage without me for one damn morning?" he grumbled.

"Hiccup!" Fishlegs cried, more urgently.

Yes. Apparently it _was_ asking too much.

* * *

Snotlout awoke at daybreak, roused by the incessant chirping of the birds in the nearby trees. He found himself bitterly thinking they would not be so merry if someone woke _them_ at dawn with jovial song—but then he realized they were just birds. They were useless, ignorant creatures without regard for the sleeping habits of others... and suddenly, he hated birds.

He groaned and rolled over on his back, reaching for the warm body that shared his bed—but his hand only met empty blankets. His eyes snapped open and he glanced around for Ruffnt, only to find two empty goblets as the only shred of evidence she had even been there. Neither her clothes, her helmet, nor so much as a stray hair had been left behind when she had crept out of his tent during the night.

There were about a dozen things that burdened his heart in that moment—among the most prominent were hurt, embarrassment, shame, and regret. They were four emotions Snotlout did not want to commonly associate with his love life, and yet they always seemed to resurface when the women he desired were involved. How idiotic he had been to assume—to hope—that night meant anything more than a drunken fling. Instead of a lover, he was a conquest. He was just one more name to add to Ruffnut's extensive list. He could not help the strangled cry of frustration that escaped him and he pounded his fist into the ground, feeling the weight of his disastrous mistake. He had wanted her, as more than a casual encounter, but he had simultaneously blown his chances for anyting meaningful along with the rather simple rapport they otherwise had—whenever he was _not _making passes at her, of course. How was a friendship to be salvaged from the terrible mess a little weakness and indiscretion had caused? Their relationship had just become infinitely more complicated.

He hastily threw on some clothes and rushed out of his tent, immediately scanning the campsite for any sign of moment, but the only souls that greeted him were dragons sitting watchfully by their respective rider's tent. Toothless raised his head and twitched his ear nubs inquisitively at the sight of him, half-dressed and anxious. Snotlout cast the Night Fury a wary glance, feeling as if the dragon could somehow channel Hiccup's look of judgment with an uncanny likeness, and that was something he simply did not need at the moment.

Snotlout did his best to ignore the dragon as he rushed over to Ruffnut's tent, intending to throw open the flap and confront her about her callousness—but he had no ground to stand on, so to speak. There had been no expectations or commitments made between them. Ruffnut had violated no trust, nor broken any promises spoken or unspoken. He was being a damned, sentimental fool—and she would be certain to tell him so. It did nothing to soothe his wounded pride, but it gave him a moment's pause and reconsider his impulsiveness.

With an aggravated hiss, he stormed off towards his own tent. Hookfang growled softly at him as he approached, but even the concern of his Monstrous Nightmare did nothing to diminish he souring mood—how could he find comfort in the fact that his only steady, stable relationship was with his ornery dragon? Still, he reached up to place a hand on Hookfang's snout, appreciative that _someone_ had his back at least, but a rustling in the nearby foliage captured his attention—and that of Hookfang. In spite of his injury, the Monstrous Nightmare rose to full height, baring his teeth in the direction of the noise. It was unusual, to say the least, and when Toothless began to do the same, Snotlout felt a sense of foreboding—if the Night Fury felt threatened, then something was surely amiss.

He quickly ducked into his tent and grabbed his weapon before he made any moves to investigate. Stepping back out into the sunlight, he gripped his war hammer tightly as he inched towards the tree line. Hookfang tried to follow him, but the large dragon was not much for stealth, and he gestured for the Nightmare to stay put. Hookfang, surprisingly, obeyed while remaining hyper-vigilant, looking prepared to strike should Snotlout run into trouble.

'_Yes'_, he thought to himself, '_a dragon is much more reliable than any woman_.'

When Snotlout had reached the questionable cluster of bushes, he took a deep, steadying breath. Then, raising his hammer aloft, he plunged his arm between the overgrown, tangled branches, seizing something of a much less natural substance. With a mighty tug, he pulled a man through the bushes, and he did not need to closely study the sigil on his garb—it was obvious as to which tribe the intruder belonged.

"Marauder!" Snotlout hollered, hoping at least one of his friends was listening.

The man unsheathed a sword and swung it at him, but Snotlout knocked it loose from his fist with a well-timed blow from his hammer—the weapon disappeared among the trees.

"MARAUDER!" he shouted, louder. "THERE'S A MARAUDER IN OUR CAMP!"

The man tried to run, but Snotlout tackled him, pinning him to the ground with the handle of his weapon crushing into the Marauder's throat.

"Bastard! What are you doing here?" Snotlout demanded as the enemy choked and sputtered. "How many more of you are hiding out there?"

"Fuck...you!" he gasped, elbowing Snotlout in the ribs.

It was a disarming strike and Snotlout clutched his side as the man threw him off and began to make another run for it. By that time, Fishlegs and the Twins had emerged from their tents, shouting suggestions over one another in an unintelligable cacophony of alarm. Thankfully, Snotlout was capable enough on his own, and he chased the Marauder down, grabbing him from behind in a chokehold.

"You're coming with me, fucker!" he hissed, dragging the man back towards Hookfang, who fidgeted eagerly.

In the years since Berk had made peace with dragons, violence and combat had been less of a priority in their culture, but Snotlout was glad he had maintained his brute, Viking strength—such a trait was much more useful than words in his current situation.

Hookfang lowered his head closer to the ground, and opened his jaws in anticipation if his rider's next move. Snotlout was glad for his dragon's incredible powers of intuition as he dropped his hammer to the ground and shoved the Marauder's head in between Hookfang's dagger-like teeth. The man struggled in a state of panic at first, but quickly learned it was not wise to thrash around in a mouthful of sharp fangs. He held quite still as Snotlout questioned him further.

"Unless you want to be Hookfang's breakfast, tell me, how many of you are still on this island?"

"Snotlout! What are you doing?" Hiccup asked in alarm, hurrying over to him with an expression of great concern—he was the last interruption Snotlout needed at the moment.

Undoubtedly, Fishlegs had run to his cousin, just like he always did. Even with Hiccup being as uninvolved with the rest of them as he had been recently, Fishlegs could not stop defaulting to his judgment on everything. Snotlout was not in the mood for a lecture—from Hiccup, especially. He was already on edge from Ruffnut's apathetic handling of his heart, and the Marauder in his clutches was just the person he needed to release a little of his pent-up anger.

"I found this asshole lurking around camp—!"

"I wasn't lurking! I was—!" the Marauder snapped, but Snotlout cut him off.

"Quiet, fucker! I'm talking to my cousin!" he demanded, pushing him a little deeper into Hookfang's mouth.

"This is _not_ how we do things!" Hiccup protested.

Snotlout narrowed his eyes at him, unwilling to compromise in that instance—he had been promised there would be no more soft approach.

"This is not the way _you_ do things!" Snotlout retorted. "_You _asked for _my_ help! You _know_ these guys need a little roughing up! Now, are you going to back off and let me take care of this, or not?"

They stared at each other challengingly for a moment, and Snotlout could tell Hiccup was struggling internally, but if there was one thing Snotlout knew about his cousin, it was that Hiccup kept his promises—even if it conflicted with his better judgment. After a moment, Hiccup held up his hands in defeat, and took a step back silently relenting. It was an image Snotlout hoped he could sear into his memory forever. The shocked look on the other riders' faces only made it that much sweeter.

"Do what you have to—but make it quick," Hiccup ordered, and Snotlout replied with a terse nod.

Turning back to the Marauder, he asked, "How many of you are there?"

The man angled his head just enough to spit in his face. Snotlout retained a hold on him with one hand, vigorously wiping his cheek with the back of the other.

"Hookfang!" he snapped.

The dragon closed his jaw a little more, the very tip of his teeth now pressing dangerously against the man's jugular. Out of the corner of his eye, Snotlout could see Hiccup shift uncomfortably.

"Spit in my face just _one more_ time..." Snotlout warned his enemy. "Now, how many of you are—?"

"Me!" the Marauder answered through gritted teeth. "Just me, that I know of."

"What are you doing here?"

The man hesitated and Snotlout glanced up at Hookfang, who growled threateningly at their captive in response.

"I was one of those who got left behind when our ships left with those dragons. I have no desire to be executed, like the others who were captured, so I've been layin' low until I could make my escape," he explained. "In the meantime, I've been watchin' ye and studyin' yer dragons, so I had somethin' of value te tell our leader when I returned. I'll be a fucking hero."

"Why do you want our dragons?"

"I couldn't tell ye, exactly, but it's all part of some bigger plan te impress this warlord, see? He's buildin' an army. Dragons are his tribute. I couldn't care less what he wants te do with 'em."

"Who is this warlord guy?"

"Some foreigner from the northeast. I've never seen him, but it doesn't matter either way. As long as he makes good on his promises."

"Where is your stronghold?" Snotlout demanded.

The man did not reply, casting a pleading glance in Hiccup's direction, seeking his mercy. It only reaffirmed what Snotlout had suspected for a while—his cousin had a reputation of being far too soft, and for a moment, it looked as though Hiccup was about to intercede on the Marauder's behalf. Snotlout would not stand for it—Hiccup was naive on matters of war.

"Don't look at _him_! Look at me!" Snotlout hissed, pressing the Marauder slightly into Hookfang's bottom jaw.

His breath quickened, and Snotlout took great satisfaction from the beads of panicked perspiration that had broken out on his brow.

"Bloodstone Island! That's where our forces are concentrated!"

Snotlout smirked at his success, event though he had never heard of such a place, and did not even know where to begin the search for it.

Hiccup finally spoke up and said, "I know of it."

_Of course_ he did.

Snotlout pulled the man out of Hookfang's mouth abruptly, and gave him a hard punch to the gut before throwing him to the ground. He then retrieved his hammer from the grass and raised it high above his head, prepared to strike—he only meant to seriously maim or grievously injure his enemy. Incapacitation was the only effective way he could see to keep a Marauder in line. True, death was always a possibility from a powerful blow to the head, but if such an outcome occurred, Snotlout would not be terribly upset about it. Every Marauder deserved whatever cruel fate awaited them—in that life, or the next.

"Stop!" Hiccup firmly demanded, seizing Snotlout suddenly by the wrist. "Think about what you're doing! You could kill him!"

"And that's bad, because...?"

Hiccup ignored him and turned to the twins instead. "Grab him—don't let him escape," he told them, and they enthusiatically complied. "We'll take him to Old Man Dalgaard. The Bragaossians can decide what to do with him."

Ruffnut and Tuffnut dragged the winded Marauder away by his arms, grinning nearly identical wicked grins. Fishlegs hurried after them, eager to offer whatever support he could with only one functional arm. That left Snoutlout and Hiccup standing there, alone, and after the morning he was having, Snotlout had no patience left to exercise. Hiccup could glare at him with all the disapproval in the world, and he would not spare a drop of remorse. For every step forward they seemed to take in their relationship, they subsequently took two more steps back. After everything Hiccup had said to him, and all the promises of understanding and reconciliation between them, there was still an inextinguishable battle of the wills—there always had been, and Snotlout suspected there always would be. Hiccup had been agreeable to his methods until he actually saw them put into action, then he seemed to recant his support almost instantly. When would there ever be trust? When would there ever be mutual respect? Snotlout was more a Viking than Hiccupccould ever hope to become. Everything Ruffnut had said about good fortune and no longer coveting the chiefdom dissolved in the face of his cousin's softness. All the reassurance she had given the night before was nothing more than cheap talk, and his rivalry with Hiccup had not lessened in the slightest. In light of Ruffnut's deceptive compassion, Snotlout was only more bitter than he had previously been. Bitterness punctuated just about every aspect of his life. How could he and Hiccup compromise with such fundamentally different philosophies regarding leadership and war? What strategy could be made that blended to diametrically opposed ways of thinking? In the end, Hiccup would protest his approach, and Snotlout would just continue to scoff at his cousin's overwhelming benevolence. Only in stubborness were they equally matched.

Hiccup opened his mouth to reprimand him, but Snotlout denied him the opportunity.

"_That's_ how you fucking interrogate somebody!" he snapped.

With that, he turned his back on his cousin, all manner of disrespect implied. After all, what was _Hiccup_ going to do about it?

000000000

**Author's Note:** So, this chapter is kind of a recovery from the super action/plot-heavy pace I've been going at lately. Was it boring? I hope it wasn't terribly boring. I needed a chapter to decompress. I mean, I gave y'all a little bit there at the end, but mainly...sex. Vague, deliberately M-rated (and not MA) sex. And feels. Lots of feels. It's what I do best. I promise the next chapter will get back to the more...uh..uhhh...well, not-feels.

Oh, but the complicated love lives of young Vikings...

Old Norse Facts n' Things:

I get some of my tidbits of Viking culture from "The Viking Answer Lady" webpage. It's very fascinating. Years of college essay leave me wanting to properly cite my source, but this website does not let me post other URLs. This is the most credit I can give.

On Viking bathing habits:

* "_Aside from Ibn Fadlan, almost all sources indicate that the Vikings were the among the cleanliest of all Europeans during the Middle Ages. In the summer, bathing could be preformed in lakes or streams..."_

"_The sagas often describe a woman washing a man's hair for him, often as a gesture of affection_."

"Combs were in everyday use at every level of society. Combs were used as a part of the hair washing process, being used to comb through the wet hair during washing."

You learn something new everyday! :)


End file.
